Bone Deep
by Greened Ink
Summary: While on the trail of a killer responsible for a series of skeletal remains found by the FBI, Brennan is attacked in her own office. To find the truth of both cases while holding herself together, she'll need all the help her team and partner can provide.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Bone Deep

Chapter One

^Brennan's Point of View- Wednesday AM

It was 4:30 in the morning and Forensic Anthropologist Doctor Temperance Brennan couldn't sleep. The sheets felt dry and seemed to crackle as she shifted. Grumpily, she turned over again. No matter the position, sleep evaded her thoroughly. She tried breathing techniques she'd learned in Africa and relaxation mantra's she'd learned in Nepal, but nothing helped. She sighed gustily.

Well, if she wasn't going to be able to sleep, she might as well go to work. That was all she seemed to be doing lately, working and sleeping. However, over the past month or so, even sleep was slipping away from her in small, uncontrollable bits. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Another night of approximately three hours sleep. Idly, she wondered what this insomnia was doing to her limbic system.

By the time she arrived at the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico Legal Lab, it was 5:13. To be honest, she hadn't expected anyone else to be present at such an early hour, so it was with some shock that she spotted a light on in one of the labs. She stuck her head in.

Dr. Camille Saroyan, Pathologist, stood off to one side of an autopsy table littered with case files in the pale blue folders emblazoned with the Jeffersonian's logo.

"Cam?" Brennan hadn't realized that her voice was in such disuse until she spoke and it came out a croak. Hastily she cleared her throat. "Dr. Saroyan?"

Cam raised her head. Her beautiful mahogany skin was drawn tight around her eyes. She looked almost as tired as Brennan really felt. "Dr. Brennan. Is it morning already?" She peered sleepily at the clock sitting on the counter by the stainless steel sink.

"In a manner of speaking." Brennan shrugged gently as she slowly approached the table. "It's almost 5:30, won't Michelle be worried?" She referred to Cam's adopted teenage daughter.

"School trip." Cam answered, stretching and popping her neck. "She won't be back for several days."

Nodding her understanding, Brennan turned to leave.

"What about you? It's a bit early to be back at work, even for you, especially after the late night you had."

"I often come to work this early." Brennan said, avoiding the question entirely. Before Cam could ask anything else, Brennan had turned on her heel and started for her own office. She was comforted by the familiar sight of the mummy that looked on from the glass wall and by the skulls arrayed on her desk that grinned their histories her way. More boxes of human remains sat neatly stacked next to her desk, waiting to tell their own stories to the well trained eye. She set her bag down, took off her jacket and sat. Her computer hummed softly as she started it up and typed in her password. Fumbling a little, she silently cursed her predictability that had caused her partner to be able to guess her past three passwords and forced her to come up with one even she had difficulty with.

The work of examining the bones might have seemed tedious to anyone else, but as she took the plastic storage boxes over to her couch and began her work, her tensed shoulders relaxed. This was what she was made to do. Self-made in most senses of the word. She fell to a rhythm that had become almost easier than breathing.

She closed the last file, the paperwork of her efforts tucked carefully inside, ready for submission. Slipping the information card into the front slot of the final box, an old man who had died of natural causes, she stretched and looked at the clock once again. It was only 7:47. Maybe she could kill time by going to get some breakfast. Grabbing her jacket and bag, she swung by autopsy where she had seen Cam earlier.

The woman was dozing on top of the files she had been looking over. Unable to help a small smile, Brennan gently touched the Pathologist's shoulder. When her boss barely roused enough to mumble, Brennan gently guided her to the couch back in her office. The small throw she kept there for when she herself spent the night didn't disturb the woman at all when she pulled it over her shoulder. Cam safely ensconced on her couch, Brennan continued to the diner.

Her fruit bowl and toast was half gone when another person sat beside her. She knew who it was without having to look.

"Mornin' Bones." Booth said jovially. Her partner, FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, almost always called her by the moniker he had given her. She had minded at one point, she mused, but now she knew something was wrong when he didn't use it.

"Good morning." She replied, finally looking over. He looked tired too. "Sleep well?"

He grunted noncommittally and ordered eggs and a meat she didn't pay attention to the name of. "I might've slept better if I didn't get this-" He held up an FBI case file, "- this morning."

"Another one?" She groaned, taking it from him and flipping it open. She didn't need his nod. Instead, she stared down at the reason for her and her colleagues' recent bouts of sleeplessness. The FBI had indeed found another victim.

More than a month previous, two sets of remains had been unearthed by a team repairing a dilapidated section of railroad track. Each was defleshed and in a nondescript white box like some sort of mockery of a coffin. Then a week later, a child had come across another while digging in the sandy soil of the train tracks next to his home. After a while, the cases were finally bumped to the FBI where they were assigned to Booth. Another box, another set of remains a week after they had gotten the cases with only one difference. It was fresh, only in the ground a few days. So it had begun.

The total had just grown to five. Five women with bone deep cuts all over their bodies, begun while the victims were still alive based on the staining on the bones near the wounds. Then the flesh had been removed with great finesse by a tool they had yet to identify and their graves created. So far, very little further evidence had been forthcoming. They had identified the kind if knife that had been used on the victims prior to their deaths, but it was a common hunting knife. They knew the culprit was right handed. The victims had been identified, but any possible connections linking them all hadn't been uncovered. They seemed to have nothing in common. The first and third victims were both blonde, but one was short, the other tall. The second victim was a redhead, the fourth a brunette. Their eyes, backgrounds, ages, religions, acquaintances, friends, family; all different. Even when two victims shared a commonality, the other two didn't. It seemed the only thing all four women shared was the torment of their final hours. The remains pictured in the file were the same as the others.

"Maybe this one will bring the bastard down." Booth growled.

"You had them sent to the Jeffersonian?"

"They should be arriving in about ten minutes." He nodded.

"Then I should go." She made as if to stand up but a hand on her shoulder forestalled the action. She looked back to meet her partners intense gaze.

"You should finish your breakfast." He said, dropping his brown eyes to the counter. "You look like hell."

Snorting, she took up her spoon again. "Thanks."

Booth just gave a weak, cheeky grin in the face of her sarcasm. She thought he secretly enjoyed it when she tried her hand at socially accepted forms of communication such as jokes or sarcasm. Granted, she didn't make the attempt very often, but when she did his face lit up much the same way his son, Parker's, had when she'd given them a key to her apartment building's pool.

They ate breakfast together and then returned to the Jeffersonian. Dr. Jack Hodgins, Mineralogist, Entomologist and Botanist, met them at the door. "I found something." He said breathlessly, holding up a small vial with a swab in it.

"What?" Booth asked immediately, peeking into the vial.

"I don't know yet." Hodgins grinned. "I found it in the groove of one of the perimortem injuries on the victims bones though. Well, Wendell found it, but still-"

"How does this help us?" Booth cut in.

"New evidence adds up." Brennan answered before Hodgins could even reopen his mouth to speak. "Good work Hodgins. It could be the thing that leads to our killer. Once you identify what it is." She gave him a meaningful look and he pursed his lips and went off to his lab.

Swiping her card, Brennan climbed the few steps to the forensics platform. Her intern on rotation, Mr. Wendell Bray, had already removed most of the bones and set them up in an anatomically correct order. "Dr. Brennan. Female, between 25 and 30."

She nodded in confirmation as he took out the last bone, a tibia, and put it in place. "Take the box to Hodgins." She told him without looking away from the new remains before her. Her eyes were only for the stained and marked bones on the table. Nicks covered a good portion just as with the other victims, several with the familiar staining that fairly screamed of perimortem torture. Wear on the bones of the female's shoulders and hips bespoke an active swimmer while the vertebrae of her spine said she spent a great deal of time sitting hunched slightly. Over a desk perhaps. Small fractures on her tarsals and carpals suggested she'd been bound and had struggled. In a matter-of-fact voice, Brennan relayed all of this to Booth.

"Cause of death?" He spoke quietly.

"She has the same nick on the cervical vertebrae, suggesting the carotid was severed. The staining is significant enough to conclude the victim died of blood loss."

"Just like the others."

"She appears to have a broken arm." Brennan commented, peering closely at the woman's elbow.

"That's new." Booth answered as cheerfully as he seemed able to muster.

She made an assenting grunt. "Mr. Bray." She spoke to the returning Wendell. "Once you and Hodgins have finished the in-depth exam for particulates take the bones to x-ray. I want a closer view of this break."

The intern nodded.

"Inform me the second you've finished, then get the skull to Angela for the reconstruction."

"What about you?" Angela asked, coming up on the platform, her pregnant belly protruding slightly.

"We've got to go over to Alexandria," Booth answered quickly for her. "to interview the last victims sister."

She crinkled her brow his way. He had a habit of speaking for her. She was perfectly capable of doing so for herself. She might have argued the fact, but since she was tired and couldn't refute the statement as false, she let him off with a simple glare.

"Come on Bones, let's go." He said, placing his arm at her back to guide her.

"Angela, let us know when you're done with the reconstruction." She said over her shoulder. It really did sometimes feel like Booth was abducting her from her own workplace.

The car ride with Booth was unnaturally silent. After a while she attempted to strike up a repartee. "You look tired." It was the truth. He had dark half circles under his eyes, his posture was rigid and he was blinking an incredible amount.

He glanced at her angrily. "You don't look like a real spring chicken yourself."

"I don't know what that means, but if you're implying that I'm tired as well, you would be correct." She looked out the window at the passing scenery so she didn't have to meet his eyes when he glanced at her again.

"Yeah, I guess everybody's feeling the strain. I hate serial killers." He sighed.

She allowed a small smile to curve her mouth. "Yes, I agree. They do tend to ruin one's day." She was rewarded by his echoing grin.

"You know, the Andersons are pretty sure this sister that's been out of town doesn't know anything informative."

"The Andersons, you mean the adoptive parents of the last victim?"

"Yeah, I mean, they say that Nicole's sister didn't have a lot of contact with her. Mostly just spoke to her on the phone at Christmas and sent a card on her birthday."

"I don't understand why the Anderson's feel they would know how much contact their daughter had with her sister. She was twenty-two, an age when most children rarely tell their parents the truth about their lives."

"Well, Mrs. Anderson said she spoke to Nicole every day, confirmed by the girl's phone records before she went missing."

"Perhaps Nicole wouldn't tell her mother if she was in regular contact with her birth sister." Brennan posited.

"What, you mean like the mother and sister didn't get along?"

Brennan shrugged. Booth was working into the murky, relationship side of things, something she really didn't want to get into. "I simply meant that we can't know the voracity of Mrs. Anderson's statement."

"Yeah, right. Look, when we're talking to the sister, don't go mentioning the cause of death or serial killers like you did with the parents. She doesn't need to hear all that right now."

"You don't think she might have already heard? Or get upset with us for not telling her the full truth?"

"The girl lost her sister. Just let me do the talking."

She rolled her eyes but still conceded. He was better with people than she was after all.

It was an hour drive through sparse traffic to the small, box-like house the sister had inherited from her now deceased parents. She met them at the door and then showed them inside. The woman looked about thirty years old, her frame smaller than her sister's but otherwise the same. She looked even more tired than they.

Beside an end table with a blue glass figurine on it, Brennan perched on the edge of the overly stuffed couch while the woman took a seat wearily on the chair.

"Ms. Cappen-" Booth started.

"Please, call me Valerie." She said with a sad smile. "Can I get either of you anything?"

"No, thank you, we're fine. I take it you've heard the news about you sister."

She nodded. "When Nicole stopped answering my calls, I knew something was wrong. When I found out her mother hadn't heard from her either and had filed a missing person's report. I-" Her eyes filled with tears. "I tried to come home, but- I don't have a lot of money. I couldn't change my ticket. Then... I heard her- her body was found." She bit down hard on her lip like she was trying not to sob and quickly covered it with a hand.

Brennan felt uncomfortable, but she didn't speak.

"Wait. So you did have regular contact with your sister?" Booth asked.

Trying to hide a smug smile, Brennan cleared her throat and sat back.

"In a manner of speaking. We talked on the phone once a week just to touch base. Went to lunch almost as often. Nicole mostly complained about her mother or gushed about her new boyfriend."

"New boyfriend? You wouldn't happen to know who that was, do you?"

Ms. Cappen shrugged. "Gregory something. I didn't pay close attention. I'd been frantic about getting ready for my trip. Our last conversation was... too short." She bit her lip again.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything Nicole might have mentioned?"

The woman shook her head sadly. "Not that I can think of."

"Alright then." Booth held out a card. "We'll look into that new boyfriend. Give us a call if you remember anything, anything at all. We'll be sure to keep you posted."

Standing, Brennan glanced at the time, then thanked Valerie Cappen after Booth and exited the house.

"Alright." Booth sighed after they set off in the SUV. "You were right. I guess Nicole didn't tell her mother everything."

"Thank you for saying so. Did the FBI find any 'Gregory's' when they investigated Nicole Anderson?"

Booth grunted. "There was a... Gregory Castilnetta I think, that she had a few classes with." He answered thoughtfully. "We'll check it out on our way back."

"Well, that was a bust." Booth griped, sliding into the SUV's driver's seat.

"Wha- How? We proved he is the boyfriend Nicole Anderson was talking about." Brennan pointed out, climbing in the other side.

"Well, yeah, but he's got an airtight alibi. His whole basketball team just confirmed it." Booth pulled seamlessly into traffic. "It just means we're at yet another dead end."

"Then we should go back to the lab. Wendell might have the results soon. We can't do much more till we get another lead."

"Yeah, alright."

^Later that night.

Staring at the bones of the latest victim was starting to make her eyes ache. Brennan knew it was late, but this case was making her frustrated. It wasn't like she would be able to sleep for very long anyway, even if she did go home.

Thanks to Angela's sketch and corresponding dental profiles, the young woman had been identified as Emily Marcus, twenty-six. She had been an avid swimmer but worked full time at a small accounting office downtown. She was the mother of a small two year old boy.

Brennan leaned back up to a standing position. She hated when the victim's had small children almost as much as when the victim's were small children. The third victim, Elizabeth Mayhew, had had two children as well, including a boy around Parker's age. Seeing that boy sobbing and Booth looking so sad made her feel physically ill. So this time she had opted not to go for the notification. Luckily, Booth seemed to understand her desire to continue working and took Sweets with him instead.

Switching off the lighted exam table, she decided to retreat to her office to finish an E-mail correspondence and give herself a break from examining the victim.

"Hey, Dr. B, look." Hodgins intercepted her, handing over a printout.

After a glance, she looked back up at him. "Silica and concrete? That's what you found in the victim's wound tract?"

"Yeah, weird huh? The concentration of silica is very unusual as well. I was gonna do a few more tests before heading home, but I thought maybe you'd want to know."

She nodded. "Thank you."

It was almost an hour later that Cam said goodnight and Hodgins stuck his head in to say the same a half-hour after that. The machines didn't need him around to do their thing, so he was going home to take his pregnant wife a large bag of baked chips.

The lab was dark and quiet. She was the only one in the building besides the security guards by this point.

An unfamiliar sound made her look away from her computer screen. Curious, she stood. A few steps beyond her doorway, she stopped.

It was black with shadows except where dim night-lighting shone out. There wasn't a sound. Supposing maybe she should go home and at least try to sleep, she turned back to her office. A sharp blow to the back of her head felled her unconscious to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. Once again-

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Two

^Cam's POV the next morning- Thursday AM

Cam was tired. At work before anyone, even Dr. Brennan for once. The lab was absent of all but the dimmest light. She yawned. Headed resolutely for her own work area, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of a dark stain on the floor. She just starred at it for a moment, having spent enough time around dried blood to know that's exactly what it was. Slowly, barely getting her legs to move, she backed towards the security block. One look inside had her pulling out her phone and slamming her palm on the emergency button that immediately contacted the local police. A red siren light began to flash its warning color around the whole lab. As she put the phone to her ear, Seeley Booth's sleep fogged voice came through on the other end.

"Booth." He answered.

"Seeley."

"Camille? This had better be good, do you have any idea what time-"

"The night guards at the Jeffersonian are unconscious and injured." She interrupted. "We need an ambulance."

There was a brief pause as though he was processing what she had just said. Then, "It's on its way. Are both the guards still alive?" His voice had sharpened, sleep now completely dispelled.

"Yes." Cam answered immediately, having already checked.

"Check the log. Who was the last to sign out or in?"

Careful not to disturb anything, she looked. Hodgins. And before him, me." She froze. It was another moment before her hearing seemed to return and Booth was calling her name.

"Cam! Are you still there?"

Her legs jerked her out of the security room. "Seeley, when I left, Hodgins and Dr. Brennan were both still here."

There was a laden pause. "I'm already out my door, I'll be there soon." His voice was steely and dangerous.

As she drew close to Dr. Brennan's office, she could see the door was unnaturally open. She hadn't even realized she'd picked it up, but one of the guards weapons was in her hand, poised for use. "Seeley, the door to her office is open."

"Careful Camille, you don't know where the perpetrators might be."

She edged around the corner and turned on the light with one knuckle. Unable to help herself, she let out a half-scream, half-yell and dropped the weapon to cover her mouth. Only a thrill of panic kept the cellphone clutched in her other hand.

"Cam? Cam!" Booth voice sounded over the phone.

Slowly, she raised it before her trembling lips. "We're going to need another ambulance." Then she dropped the phone entirely, not bothering to turn it off.

In the center of the room, amidst a pile of broken bones splintered into jagged shards and a pool of blood that had seeped into her torn clothing, lay Dr. Brennan.

^Booth's POV- Not long after.

Booth rushed inside, barely flashing his badge before hurrying past the police who had already cordoned off the lab. Even as he entered the Medico-Legal Lab, paramedics were raising the gurney with his partner on it from the ground so the wheels on it snapped open. "Cam!" He called, seeing the blood covered pathologist lingering beside them.

"I don't know Seeley. I don't know." She put both hands together and pressed her forefingers to her lips.

"Bones." He grabbed one of his partner's hands carefully. They were freezing, pale, and she didn't even stir.

"She's alive." Cam said, sounding a little choked.

"I'm going with her." The paramedics didn't even try to argue.

Booth sat on the edge of the seat next to Angela, who couldn't have looked any more pale and was clutching her husband's hand bloodless. On the other side of the room, Sweets sat looking ill.

They had all been there for hours. The only news they had gotten was that Bones had been moved to surgery.

Cam came in, followed closely by Miss Caroline Julian. The pathologist had changed out of her blood-covered clothes. "Any word yet?"

"She's in surgery. Other than that, none." Angela answered hoarsely.

"What are you doing here Caroline?" Booth asked listlessly.

"Cher, your Forensic Anthropologist on the case of a knife happy serial killer turns up sliced and diced in her own office, you better believe I'm gonna show up."

"Miss Julian was also making sure the evidence from our case was intact and supervising the retrieval at... Dr. Brennan's office so I could shower and change." She rubbed her hands together almost unconsciously, like she felt she hadn't scrubbed enough.

"I've got to get going. You let me know when you hear anything."

"Yeah, thanks Caroline." He murmured and returned his face to his hands again.

She patted his on the shoulder before leaving.

"All the evidence at the lab has been gathered?" Hodgins asked.

"What little there was." Cam answered, wearily sinking into a chair across from him. "I gave the lab the day off. We'll... We'll double check later. After all this." She waved at the hospital in general.

"The d-doctor said you did a good job. Probably saved Bren from bleeding to d-death." Angela barely got out before returning her face to Hodgins' shoulder and shedding a few more quiet tears.

Cam just nodded, looking grim. "Did they say why they had to take her in for surgery?"

"Something about internal bleeding." Hodgins answered since Booth and Angela remained silent.

"Damn." Cam cursed.

There was a moment of silence, a wordless feeling of agreement with Cam's statement.

Angela broke it quietly. "How could this happen?"

Shaking her head, Cam told them what she knew. "The guards were jumped. They'll both be okay, but they don't remember anything beyond that. From what the FBI technicians could gather, Dr. Brennan was ambushed just outside her office, then dragged inside. From the massive knot on the back of her head, I'd say she didn't even have a chance to defend herself. Whoever did this used bones from the storage boxes in her office, broke them, and used them to make the cuts."

"That's a change in MO, if it is the serial killer." Sweets spoke up for the first time.

"Probably thought it was some kind of brilliant irony." Booth said scathingly.

"Also..." Cam looked uncomfortable.

"What?" Booth bored his eyes into her, trying to read the answer before she gave it.

"Seems it took awhile. Even if she was knocked unconscious, she should have woken up. But there was no sign of a struggle. None at all."

Booth glowered, but before he could respond, a doctor came into the waiting room. "Are you the ones here for Temperance Brennan?" He asked.

"I'm her partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI." He flashed his credentials just to be sure there would be no stonewalling. He was family.

The doctor nodding, looking unfazed. "Agent Booth, Temperance lost a lot of blood. When she was brought in her pulse was thready and weak. We gave her a blood transfusion, but her blood pressure continued to drop. After a few scans, we found internal bleeding. Just a small bleed in her chest cavity. We took her into surgery and were able to deal with labriscopically, so it was a minor procedure. A toxins panel revealed traces of Pancuronium in her system."

"That's a paralytic." Cam whispered. "No wonder there was no sign of a struggle."

"Paralyzed?" Angela said in outrage.

"A temporary effect." The doctor answered soothingly. "The drug is already leaving her system. We had our best plastic surgeon do the stitching on her wounds, so scarring should be minimal. Some of the cuts were deep, but most seem to be superficial. She was beaten, but aside from the bruises, a few broken ribs, the bleed,and a concussion, there don't seem to be any further complications." He took a deep breath. "The bruising is grouped mostly on her chest and thighs, especially around her breasts."

Beside him, Booth felt Angela stop breathing.

"However, we ran a rape kit just to be safe and it came back negative. She was just handled roughly. There are two burns on her chest from what appears to be a tazer of sorts. Perhaps a stun gun. She'll have to visit a dentist as soon as she's released from the hospital for a couple of cracked teeth."

"Suggesting she suffered multiple electrocutions." Hodgins husked, his voice somewhere between shock and disgust. He was clutching Angela hard.

Booth could hardly keep his legs under him.

"All in all, she's had a very harrowing twelve hours, but as of now she's stable. She's young, strong, and physically fit, so baring any further complications, she should recover fully. We'll remove her from the ICU once she comes around from the sedative."

'She's alive. She'll be fine.' Booth repeated this to himself over and over again so he didn't collapse. He didn't realize he was blocking out everything else until he dimly heard the doctor ask if there were any questions. "Can we see her?"

The doctor hesitated. "She's not conscious."

"She doesn't have to be." Booth answered seriously.

"Please." Angela asked.

Maybe it was the general inability to deny a pregnant woman, but whatever the reason, the doctor assented. Only one or two people could visit the ICU at a time, so a short time later, Booth and Angela were led back to a room. The others would come later. Angela was clutching his arm so hard, he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers. They hesitated before following the doctor inside. Booth's mind felt like it was short circuiting.

On the hospital bed, heavily bandaged and as pale as the sheets, lay his partner. She had been washed clean. A half-dozen wires and tubes ran to three or four machines beside her. The heart monitor beeped weakly. Booth wondered how that fierce heart suddenly seemed so forlorn and fragile, only given the tinny voice of a machine to speak out it's existence.

Angela stayed by the door, too frightened by what she saw to enter further. Slowly, Booth approached the bed. His movement made Angela burst out with a quiet sob, but no other sound escaped her as she watched him take the Anthropologist's hand. He felt a thrill of panic for a moment and then a wave of relief so intense it forced him to his knees as he felt the thrum of her pulse against his finger tips. He laid his head gently on her bandaged arm and spoke in a whisper. "Bones."

^Saturday- Morning

Gentle nudging woke him. Bright morning sunlight poured in through the rooms windows onto his face, making him just a touch too hot. They'd moved Bones to a regular room, painted a sickeningly bright yellow, on Friday morning. She'd regained consciousness sporadically ever since, but the pain medication she was on kept her from being lucid or remaining awake for more than a few minutes. He hadn't left the hospital since he'd arrived two days before and assumed someone was trying to get him to go get something to eat again. Finally, his head cleared of sleep enough for him to realize the movement was coming from the bed's occupant. Barely daring to breath, he looked into her face.

Slightly dazed blue eyes stared back at him. "Booth."

Never in his life had such a raspy voice sounded so beautiful. Involuntarily, his eyes strayed to the bruises on her neck, though his mind had already cataloged each of her hurts he could see. He quickly looked back into her eyes. "Bones."

She tried to shift and gasped, her face moving from dazed to a full grimace before he could blink.

"Shh. Bones, don't try to move just yet. Just take it easy, you're okay." He tried to sooth, elevating the head of the bed so she could sit up.

"Obviously not." She croaked. "If that statement were true, I wouldn't be in a hospital, wondering what has happened to me. Was I injured in the field?"

He faltered a little. "Y-you don't remember?"

She shook her head carefully.

Belatedly, he paged a nurse and asked for the doctor.

Angela entered the room holding two cups of steaming coffee and froze. The coffee's fell unceremoniously to the floor. "Brennan!" She rushed to her best friend's side immediately.

The doctor slid on the coffee, just barely keeping his balance enough not to fall. "Uh, call someone to clean this up please." He said to the nurse behind him. "Temperance. It's good to see you awake and relatively clear headed. How are you feeling?"

"A little sore and tired. What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

Booth hoped it was a good sign the doctor sounded unsurprised.

At the shake of her head, the doctor continued. "You are in the hospital. You were attacked at your work, badly injured."

"Cam found you." Angela spoke up when the doctor paused. "You were all cut up and lying unconscious on your office floor. We were all so worried. They said... if Cam hadn't found you when she did, you- you might have bled to death." The artist started to cry again and buried her face in Bones' shoulder.

A mixture of surprise, confusion, and sympathy passed across Bones' face. "Ange, it's okay. I'm alright, really." She tried to sooth her tearful friend.

He couldn't help but smile at that. Here his partner was, laying in a hospital bed and probably feeling like hell, and she was more worried about her friend. Once Angela's tears had stopped, Booth cut in. "Ange, maybe you should go tell the others Bones is awake."

"Oh." Angela started up surprise, looking around. "Right. Jack, Cam and Sweets have been so worried." She gave Bones a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back."

"Booth-" Bones began after her best friend had disappeared.

"I'm not leaving." He said stubbornly, gripping her hand harder.

She rolled her eyes but turned her attention to the doctor. "My injuries?"

For the next twenty minutes, Booth tried to keep from being sick as Bones and the doctor discussed what he had already heard in scientific dialogue he couldn't really follow. To hear it described so calmly and in such a detached way made him have to close his eyes. When they moved on to the rape kit, her hand finally squeezed him back. Instantly he opened his eyes and focused on her face.

Stress lines had appeared on the skin around her mouth and eyes. She was obviously carefully keeping her face as neutral as possible as she listened. Her shoulders finally sagged a little in relief. "So I wasn't raped?"

"No, though there did seem to be that kind of component to the attack. What is the last thing you do remember?"

Her brow scrunched up. "My colleague, Dr. Saroyan wishing me a good night."

"You don't remember Hodgins saying good night?" Booth couldn't help but interrupt.

She shook her head. "No."

He looked at the doctor.

"Memory loss isn't unusual with such a combination of trauma's. Your head wound alone could have effected your memory before the event. It's tricky though. You could regain your memories slowly with exposure to the triggers, in one big rush, or unfortunately not at all, however that isn't as likely."

Bones nodded in understanding.

Behind the doctor, Cam, Hodgins, Sweets and Angela peeked their heads in.

"We heard you were awake." Hodgins smiled. They came in.

"How are you feeling?" Sweets asked.

"Better than I look I suppose." She answered. "Anything else?" She asked the doctor.

"I did want to have a word with you in private about your medical history." The doctor looked concerned.

"I'm too tired to have a word in private with anyone." Bones mumbled, closing her eyes. "Whatever medication you have me on is making it hard to focus and stay awake. Just ask."

"Alright." The doctor folded his arms in front of him over her file and continued hesitantly. "You have quite the violent history. Records of a fractured leg and head, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, dehydration, starvation, dating back to your teenage years. That isn't even to speak of the more recent injuries-"

"You had a question?" Bones interrupted, coloring slightly and opening her eyes to look around her.

Booth saw Sweets looking like he was going to vomit. Hodgins and Cam were both staring with their mouths hanging open slightly. Angela was pale and staring at the floor. As Bones panned around to look at him, he tried to wipe the anger and nausea from his face. By her answering frown, he was pretty sure he hadn't succeeded. He glared at the doctor.

The doctor had the sense to look contrite. "I wanted to ask if I should be concerned."

Snorting derisively, Bones spoke slowly and clearly, almost like she'd had to explain this before. "My wounds were not self inflicted. I'm not in an abusive relationship, I simply have a sometimes dangerous job. I'm capable of protecting myself and I have Booth to look after me too. You're concern is unwarranted. If you feel the need, you may contact my regular physician to confirm. Besides, at least I remember all of those incidents." She giggled but stopped in the middle of it in shock.

Like everyone else, Booth felt his eyebrows meet his hairline.

She glared accusingly at the doctor. "What exactly did you give me again?"

"Just something to ease your pain and help you sleep." The doctor answered kindly, his voice soft. "I think perhaps it's time your visitors stepped out."

"I'm staying." Booth said automatically.

The doctor nodded.

"Thank you for coming." Bones said to them in slurred words, already started to slip towards unconsciousness again.

"Of course, Dr. B." Hodgins answered.

"Hope you feel better soon." Cam said.

They filed out. The doctor checked the readouts on the machines, then followed.

Bones giggled again. "Damn if I remember a thing."

"'s okay, Bones." He replied, trying to sound jovial and gripping her hand a little tighter.

"Everything hurts, Booth. Probably be-st I forgot, huh?" Her eyelids starting to flutter closed. "I hate stun guns."

He couldn't help his answering smile as she finally fell asleep.

^Sunday- Late Afternoon/ Evening

Bones was a pain in the neck when she was injured. Booth thought this again as Bones voiced the fact that she could take care of herself for about the ninth time just that day from behind the thick hospital door. She had been in the hospital for a total of three days as the doctors monitored her healing and pumped her full of antibiotics to fight off infections. Saturday night, she'd had a bit of a fever, but it had been gone by morning. The doctors were comfortable enough with her progress to release her. Booth stood leaning against the door jam as, in the room beyond, Angela was helping Bones get dressed.

There was something that sounded like a squeak from inside.

"Remember to be careful not to pull your stitches, Bones."

There was a pause. "Shut up Booth." Angela said, her voice playful.

He chuckled.

Finally, Angela came out and Booth entered to push Bones in the wheelchair to the SUV. The artist tried to help Bones climb into the front seat but the Anthropologist pushed her hands away. "I'm fine, I can do it."

Booth rolled his eyes for only Angela to see.

She smirked and climbed in back.

He drove to Bones' apartment.

"What's that?" Bones asked, pointing to the cop car outside the front of her building.

"Protection detail." He answered, trying for casualness. He'd been afraid of this.

Her face conveyed her outrage. "What? Why?"

Taking no chances, Booth leaned in close. As always, Bones didn't pull away but just glared back. "You were attacked by god knows who, god only knows why, and in a manner eerily similar to an at large serial killer you are attempting to apprehend." He got out of the car.

Though her lips pressed into a thin line, she didn't argue further.

Once they'd gotten her settled into her apartment, she tried to shoo them away, telling them she would be fine.

"No way Bones." He cut her off mid-sentence. "I'm staying tonight, Angela will be here for you tomorrow. Then Cam, Hodgins, and Sweets will check on you the three days after that. If you're still doing well, then you can be on your own. And Cam refuses to let you return to work for at least a week, maybe more, so don't even think about it. If you don't cooperate, she'll make it more. And no arguing, it's no use." He said the last as she opened her mouth to protest.

Before she could recover enough to start arguing, Angela gave her a hug. "I'll be back tomorrow. We'll spend the day together."

Using the distraction to his advantage, Booth got settled on the couch while they spoke.

When Bones turned around after Angela left, she frowned at him, but said nothing. "I'm going to take a shower." She said instead.

He watched her walk to her bedroom, wincing at her slight limp. He'd brought an overnight bag when he'd brought up her things, so he dug inside and pulled out a magazine. He'd barely read half of the article before he heard her voice call him from her bedroom. He was off the couch and at the door in a heartbeat. "Yeah?"

"Can you help me? I can't reach the clasps on the bra Angela put on me."

He swallowed. "You sure?"

"I can't do it myself, so yes, I'm sure."

"Okay, I'm coming in." He opened the door and found Bones with her back to him. Her bare back almost forced a gasp from him and not in a good way.

Six long, stitched gashes marred the pale flesh, bruises discoloring her ribs a greenish yellow with purple on one side and black and blue on the other. One of the stitched cuts curled around the back and side of her left arm, just above the small scar where he knew another serial killers bomb had deposited shrapnel in the form of teeth. He could also see another cut passing right through the scar where she had been shot on the other arm. Carefully, he undid the clasps and stepped back out of the room without a word. He wanted to shoot something, or even someone. His hands practically itched. So he went to the kitchen and started trying to cook Bones some dinner. However, even that rather mindless activity couldn't keep him from feeling completely useless.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Oops! Misspelled laparoscopically (referring to Laparoscopic surgery) in my last segment. So sorry. This chapter has a portion where the focus shifts from what is happening and what is remembered. The memories are in _italics_, and both proceeded and followed by this symbol ^*^_._ As before, **t**hank you so much to all those who have read, commented or added this to their favorites. I' m very grateful.

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Three

^Brennan's POV- One and a half weeks later, Wednesday night

Brennan sat stiffly, arms folded and legs crossed. They'd exhausted benign topics in their last couple of sessions and now, Sweets was just staring at her. She wasn't used to being here without Booth and she found it disconcertingly difficult to simply ignore the young psychologist on her own.

She'd returned to work at the Jeffersonian just a few days ago, the previous Monday, after getting her stitches out on Friday. She was pouring over the bodies they had, but the remains seemed as reluctant to release any new evidence as ever. Her sleeping habits were still about the same, making her recovery more exhaustive. However, things were getting steadily back to normal except for one glaring difference. She couldn't work with Booth as his partner again without first getting cleared by Sweets.

"This is ridiculous." She finally huffed.

Sweets said nothing.

"I don't need therapy."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm perfectly fine, recovering well. There's no need for me to be here."

"The FBI, and even Dr. Saroyan, disagree." He answered dryly.

"Well, they're mistaken."

"Perhaps you can tell me about the incident so that I can put the Jeffersonian and FBI as ease."

"There's nothing to tell. I don't remember what happened to me."

"Well then, what do you remember?"

Brennan almost growled. "I've been over that again and again. Dr. Saroyan saying good night to me."

"How did you feel at that time?"

Internally, she cursed the invention of psychology and all who practiced it. Heaving a heavy sigh, she ground out. "Fine. Normal." She shook her head. "A little tired."

"Tired? Why tired?"

She gave him a withering look. "Perhaps because it was well after eleven o'clock at night. Or because we had been trying to catch a serial killer for more than a month."

"And that frustrates you." He said it as a statement of fact rather than a question.

"I'm frustrated that I keep having to repeat myself. I don't remember what happened! This is a waste of time." She said the last speaking through clenched teeth.

"The fact that this attack appears to have been committed by the same serial killer you were gathering evidence against doesn't play into that frustration?"

"Of course not. There is no way to confirm if the killer is responsible. They couldn't find any forensic evidence for a definitive assessment as to whether it was he who targeted me."

"But it is a possibility. Everyone is aware of that. In fact, it may be grounds for removing you from the case."

"What?" Brennan sat forward abruptly, her heart leaping into beating double-time.

"It may be for the best." He tried to say soothingly.

She was in no mood to be soothed. "That's absurd. I can't be removed from the case based on a suspicion."

"You can, if your partner agrees."

That flummoxed her. She stilled her scathing retort and blinked owlishly at him. "Booth? H-he wouldn't so that." She ignored the catch in her own voice.

"Agent Booth has expressed some concern. If he doesn't feel you should-"

"He what?" Brennan could only stare at the psychologist incredulously. "But.." Her mind had stalled for a second. Booth had... what? Without realizing it, she was up and moving.

"Dr. Brennan!" Sweets called, but she was already out the door.

Though it was late, she tried to find Booth in his office. An agent working late in the pit informed her he had gone to the Jeffersonian. She almost ran headlong into Sweets as she turned to leave.

"Dr. Brennan, you shouldn't-" He tried breathlessly.

She stalked out of earshot quickly without acknowledging him. How could Booth talk to Sweets about her like that? He knew the consequences of sharing doubts about his partner with the FBI's psychologist. Even she knew what would happen and so tried never to discuss Booth with the young doctor in a way that would make it seem like she doubted his abilities in any way. What could he have been thinking? Why in the world would he want her off their serial killers case? Sure, Booth was overprotective of her. In the past week, there had barely been a chunk of a few hours time that he didn't call her. He insisted on driving her almost everywhere lately, though not to sessions. He even checked her apartment before she entered to be sure it was safe, despite the police presence just in front of her building. But this was a case almost entirely based on evidence from the the bones of their victims. Her area of expertise. He couldn't do it without her, and none of that would explain why Booth would talk to Sweets and not to her.

Brennan got in her car and drove. She wasn't aware of where exactly her body was taking her till she stormed into the lab. It felt odd. Normally, her brain was much faster than her body.

There he was, standing on the forensics platform talking with Cam and Hodgins. The late hour ensured that the rest of the Jeffersonian was deserted except for the light on in Angela's office. Cam had on her cost, her purse slung over one shoulder as though she'd been on her way home when she was interrupted. Booth was listening to Hodgins with a glazed expression, leaning casually on a table edge.

"Booth!"

He looked over, frowning.

Behind her, Brennan heard Sweets arrive, panting hard. Had he followed her all the way from the Hoover building or somehow known where she was going? She decided to ignore him as she stopped at the foot of the stairs, fists on hips.

On seeing her expression, Booth immediately straightened. "Bones, what's the matter?"

"You reported concerns to the FBI?" She took a calming breath. "You really want me taken off _our_ case?"

Booth's eyes widened and strayed behind her for a second. Then they returned to her face. "I am concerned, but I never said I wanted you off the case Bones."

"But you do." She hadn't missed the fact that he didn't directly deny it.

"It may have been the serial killer, Bones, that sliced you up. Tortured you." He was a little angry now.

"So?"

His frown deepened.

"I've been threatened and attacked by killers before. By _serial_ killers. Just in the time I've worked with you I've been beaten, shot, stabbed-"

Booth was wincing, but she continued on. "-almost blown up, attacked in my own home, kidnapped, buried alive! ...I've even lost time before. Now all the sudden you want me taken off a case? Why?"

For a long moment, Booth just stared at her, his mouth a little slack in shock. Silence reigned in the area, no one daring to move. Then the agent's face changed. If Brennan hadn't known better, she would have said he was going to throw up. When he finally spoke, it was in a low husky tone she couldn't interpret. "You aren't dealing with this." He looked at her sharply. "All those other cases, you dealt with it in your own way. Maybe you ignored your feelings about it, but you never purposefully ignored the truth. You faced it head on to find out what happened. Even in New Orleans when you lost an entire day's events. But you aren't dealing with this, you're ignoring it. Not acting like yourself, not trying to find out what happened to you in the six or seven hours you can't account for."

She glared. "I'm fine."

Booth glared right back. "Then why have you avoided you office like it's ground zero for the plague?" He gesticulated wildly in the general direction of her office. "It's like you don't even want to remember!"

"That's not true." She answered quietly, taken aback and not quite sure herself if her response was an answer for his question, or a rebuttal of his statement.

His expression, as he came down a few steps and pointed at her, made her heart accelerate almost painfully. "You haven't set foot in your office since Cam found you there. Angela told me, you don't even go near it!"

She glanced over to where her best friend had come to see what all the commotion was about. Angela looked sheepish, but determined. Brennan returned her gaze to Booth's.

"We've all noticed though. Anytime you need something from inside, you send someone else. Anytime you even glance that way, you flinch! The Temperance Brennan I know doesn't flinch from a fight."

Her anger spiked again. "I said I'm fine! Why does everyone keep trying to insist that I'm not?"

His expression hardened. "I am so _sick_ of hearing you say that. You want to pretend you're 'fine'? That's okay by me. We'll go into your office and forget anything ever happened."

She stared at him. However, he didn't wait for her to reply. Instead, he grabbed her by the wrist and began pulling her towards her office. Her scabbed cuts stretched uncomfortably at the pressure. Her ribs protested the force. She finally found her voice. "What? No." She tried to shake him off, but he held fast. She pulled back, but he was strong and unrelenting. Her still healing ribs made her efforts very ineffective. He just continued dragging her along. "Booth, stop!"

He was completely ignoring her.

As they crossed the threshold, she irrationally started to feel panic grip its icy cold fingers in her chest. She reached out blindly and managed to grab the doorways edge to hold onto for dear life.

Finally, Booth looked back at her. Then he gave one hard tug.

Damn, why was he so much stronger than she was? Her fingers came loose. Booth didn't stop pulling her forward. Her gaze rolled around her office as her breath quickened. Suddenly she was in pain, some of her memories returning so hard and so fast it was like a physical impact. She tried to block it out, telling herself that memories couldn't harm her and it was foolish to allow herself to become so effected, but both to no effect. Ghostly hands touched her skin. She tried to tell herself it was simply her tactile memory asserting itself. However, that didn't change the fact that she could practically feel the blood seeping over her skin, hear the laughter as massive volts cascaded through her system. Her nerves were on fire. She needed out.

Then she was yelling hoarsely, pulling back and digging in her heels so hard she was practically lying down. "No!" She clawed at Booth's hand desperately, unconsciously drawing blood with her short nails.

Shocked, he immediately released her.

She fell to her hands and knees, hysterical sobs bleeding past her clenched teeth despite her best efforts. Through her teared eyes, she spied the open door with its swimming, concerned faces beyond, and scrambled quickly toward it. Toward escape. The second she crossed the threshold again, her cries turned from panic to relief as the oppressive weight she had been feeling eased a little. She threw her back against the wall and drew her knees to her chest, ignoring the screaming of her ribs and the pain that laced through her chest. But the memories that had surfaced did not vanish again.

Brennan pressed her eyes to her knees. She covered her ears with a groan so deep in her chest, she might have described it as guttural if she was in a clearer frame of mind. Tears leaked down her cheeks. Unconsciously, she began to rock slightly, words slipping from her still clenched teeth. She couldn't have stopped them if she tried. "Make it stop. Make him stop laughing. I don't want to remember, make it stop!" Her voice cracked.

A hand touched her shoulder gently. "Sweetie?" Angela's panicked voice sounded oddly far away.

She started a little in surprise, having forgotten there were other people around her. Crap. She was acting like a lunatic in front of her colleagues. What the hell was wrong with her? She pulled away from the contact quickly as if burned, struggling to the side and up onto wobbly legs. While careful to keep her face averted, she wiped the marks her few escaped tears had made on her cheeks. It hurt as she tried to take deep, calming breaths. The glass felt cool against her cheek and forehead as she pressed her face to the wall. She kept her eyes closed. Then, carefully, she tried to blank her expression, voiding it of emotion. In foster care, it was a necessity to learn.

Booth's voice came from behind her. He sounded guilty and sad. "Geez, Bones, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He trailed off.

She hesitated, then decided to downplay what had happened. After all, what could she say? She felt too conflicted to trust having a real conversation right now and half of her just wanted to tell him to go to hell. Well, beat the crap out of him, and then tell him to go to hell. The other half wanted to apologize to him as well. That part wanted a guy hug very badly. Mostly she wanted to forget what she had just remembered. To make the damn echoing laughter recede back into nothingness. Her body ached from both remembered pain and her ribs trying to cut off her air supply. It was a feeling of helplessness she was unaccustomed to that made her want to throw, bite, clutch... something. Anything really. So she clenched her hands into fists and decided to make a quick exit. "Never mind." She heard her voice saying around the pain in her chest, proud of the deadpan tone she was able to deliver it in.

Angela sucked in a breath sharply.

Brennan pressed on, ignoring her emotional friend. "If you're done, I'm going home." She didn't give him a chance to respond. Everyone had crowded around her, worried. When she turned, they all automatically took a step backward. Some of them visibly winced on seeing her expression. Conveniently, their movement opened a path of a escape for her and she took advantage of it, trying not to run in her haste to get away from the situation. They were too shocked to call after her or follow, for which she was grateful.

On her careful drive home, she rolled her window all the way down and let the cool air flow over her till it seemed to penetrate her very skin. The temperature at this time of night held just enough chill to calm her trembling. She was a little more relaxed once she was in her apartment, the new deadbolt firmly snapped into place. Her keys fell to the floor loudly with her bag. Then she proceeded to peel off her clothes. Somehow, they felt as soiled as the torn and bloody ones from the night of the attack that had already been discarded, so she threw them in the trash. Her shoes followed. Her necklace clattered noisily onto the counter-top in her kitchen. Her earrings fell noiselessly onto the carpet in her bedroom. Completely naked, she went into the bathroom, turned on the shower extra hot and climbed into the tub. She sat in the spray and pulled her knees to her chest, once again ignoring her ribs protests. She stayed that way till the searing water turned bitterly cold before turning it off. Without drying, she wrapped up in a robe and collapsed on her bed, not even getting under the covers. She felt drained, both physically and emotionally. To her relief, falling asleep proved easy. Staying asleep with nightmares of half-recalled memories forcing her awake, her breathing quick and shallow, was an entirely different matter.

There was nothing for it. Long before anyone could possibly be at work, she called Cam and left a message saying she wouldn't be in for work. Even though all she wanted to do was bury herself in a few cases, storage or current, and retrieve that sense of calming peace she always got from doing her job. She only said for the day, but wondered if she wouldn't need more than one to be able to face her coworkers again. Uncharacteristically, she spent the morning in bed, though she didn't sleep. By the time noon rolled around, she'd recovered enough to pull herself out of bed, but only enough to make it to her couch. She sat there, feeling sick to her stomach, a headache starting to form between her eyes. At two o'clock, there was a knock at the door. She opened it reluctantly and silently let Angela slip into the apartment.

They didn't speak as the artist set a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and began cooking. It had surprised Brennan, to learn that her friend was one of few people she had ever known who could be present without it feeling intrusive in any way, when Angela had come over to stay close after her release from the hospital. Curled up on the couch, trying not to shift to give her chest some much needed respite, Brennan contemplated her dilemma. She could stay home from work forever, or avoid her friends, nor did she have any desire to. Her stomach muscles contracted as her body reacted to her lack of food all day, which sent pain lacing over her ribs. She had done too much the previous day. Even after staying in bed to rest, she ached. Trying to fight Booth had injured the unhealed bone in her chest. She concentrated on taking a few deep breaths.

Once the food was done and they had eaten, Angela finally spoke. "What else do you need?"

Rather than answer, Brennan stood. "I'm going to take a bath." It didn't really surprise her when Angela followed, silent once again. The artist helped her out of her robe and started the water, finally taking a seat on the toilet lid.

The hot liquid melted Brennan's knots and relaxed some of the tension that hadn't left her all night. However, as the tension left, the shaking started. She tried to keep her limbs moving, on the pretext of cleaning, to hide the involuntary movement, but Angela seemed to notice anyway. Immediately, the artist grabbed a washcloth, knelt by the tub and began squeezing hot water onto her bare back. Angela was gentle, only lightly brushing over the reddened marks of healing cuts crisscrossing the flesh.

Kneading her lower lip with her teeth, Brennan tried not to allow tears to escape down her cheeks. While her physical wounds were healing, she couldn't stop feeling sick. Angela's kindness and comforting presence ate away at the box she had been trying to shove this whole thing into like a corrosive acid. "I-I'm sorry." She managed to choke out.

Angela didn't speak.

"I must have looked crazy."

A slight smile curled the edges of the artists lips.

Hesitating, Brennan closed her eyes and tried to remind herself that it was Angela kneeling next to her. Her best friend. "I can't sleep, Ange. I keep hearing him laughing..." She stopped.

Angela's hands didn't stop their gentle ministrations.

"What should I do? Sweets doesn't help. Talking to Booth has me feeling like a weakling, and an idiot because I can't remember most of it anyway."

"Maybe-" Angela started, paused, then started again. "Maybe you have to want to remember before you'll be able to."

Brennan looked at her. "So what do _you_ think I should do?"

Angela shrugged. "Want it. Booth, while I'm leaning toward him being the biggest jerk in history, was right. You face the truth head on, seek it out. You need to want to remember, and I think you know of a way to do it."

After a moment of thought, Brennan stood shakily. She accepted the towel Angela folded around her and then the woman's help to get into clean clothes. It made her feel refreshed and less like a walking wound. She glanced at her clock and frowned. It was already after six. Was she losing time? How was it already so late?

"What else do you need?" Angela asked again, whispering the question.

Honestly, Brennan wanted to go back to bed, but she knew that wouldn't help her. And she was tired of feeling weak, controlled by fear and memories. It took a moment of steeling herself to get the words to leave her mouth. "Give me a ride?"

The Jeffersonian in evening had never before filled her with such trepidation. After her attack, security had been increased and she was not left alone in the building with the new guards at all. Her friends wouldn't allow it. As she walked into the lab with Angela, she could see Booth and Sweets speaking to Cam in hushed tones. Obviously discussing her by the way they faltered at the sight of her.

At his station, Hodgins stood. "Angie?" He asked uncertainly.

Brennan felt, more than saw, Angela shake her head slowly. Taking a deep breath, Brennan held out her hand. "Booth?"

Sharing an uncertain look with Sweets, Booth slowly descended the steps and took her hand. "Bones?"

"You started this. You want the truth, you've got to do this with me." She turned toward her office.

"Dr. Brennan, what exactly are you trying to do?" Sweets asked, sounding concerned.

She answered without looking back his way. "Remembering." Another deep breath. "Don't let me go." She whispered so only Booth could hear. Temperance Brennan never flinched from a fight. It took all her self control and strength to squash down the panic that threatened to drown her as she stepped over the threshold of her office. Suddenly, she was there, then. She closed her eyes. Her only link out was the pressure of Booth's hand in hers.

_^*^Her lapses back into consciousness were at first sporadic and she couldn't tell what was happening or figure out where she was. There was a painful prick that made her arm ache. Slowly, she came around, but when she tried to rub her eyes, she found she couldn't move. Trying proved pointless. She was lying on the floor of what she recognized as her office in the dim light. Her head was pounding a tempo into her skull. She felt nauseous. _

_ Sound brought her attention to her side where a figure stood. A covered face shoved close to hers, the eyes all that was visible. "Welcome back, bone lady. Ready for the party?" He raised something attached to her chest with a wicked grin. Volts slammed through her system. ^*^_

Eyes still closed, she clenched her teeth on a cry of pain. Her hand gripped Booth's hard.

_^*^His hands were on her breasts, bruising her flesh, moving down to her legs where his fingers dug into her skin and his nails scratched her. He started pulling at her clothes. _

_ All she could do was whimper. _

_ The sound enraged him. He started yelling at her to shut up. To quit acting like she was better than him. He began hitting her, then stood and switched to kicking her, swearing coarsely. She felt her ribs snap. Then he was tearing apart her office, pulling out the storage boxes and dumping the bones over her. Stomping on them till they lay snapped all around her. _

_ She couldn't breathe. Every inch of her ached. She still couldn't move. A tear escaped down into her hair.^*^_

She was having trouble breathing in response to the flashbacks flooding through her mind. Her ears picked up Booth's questioning tone, but not the words.

_^*^Her attacker picked up one of the sharp broken pieces of bone. "Beautiful, stuck-up whore. This isn't about revenge anymore. I'll teach you why no one rejects me. Guess I didn't need this mask after all." He said the last with a chuckle, reaching for her. _

_ She tried to move away, but whatever he had given her still kept her immobile. _

_ He used the jagged edges like a saw on her flesh. Eventually, the pain was too intense. She passed out.^*^_

"Breathe, just breathe. It's okay, you're safe." Booth's voice finally pushed through the sound of her harsh breathing.

She slid to her knees.

Booth's arm curled around her sore ribs to support her. He clutched her to him. "Shh, I got you Bones. I got you baby."

Brennan stirred at that, taking a few careful, deep breaths. "Don't call me baby." She mumbled into his chest.

The chuckle filled with relief reverberated against her cheek. She smiled weakly and pulled away. "Thanks for the guy hug." She chuckled as Booth helped her back up to her feet.

"Anytime."

"Are you okay?" Angela asked anxiously from the doorway with Sweets, Hodgins, and Cam.

It took a moment of clearing her head before she could respond, realizing they had no idea what had just surged into her mind. She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Did you remember anything?" Sweets asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, some. It's a little fuzzy. First, he electrocuted me, then he started touching me. But when he hurt me, I made a sound, and he just lost it. I lost consciousness when he started cutting me. That's all I remember."

There was a heavy silence. Then Booth spoke. "Damn, I'm sorry Bones."

She could only shrug at that. "It'll be alright. It's good that I remembered. You were right, at least partly. I was avoiding coming in here. At least now though, we know it wasn't our serial killer."

"We do?" He was surprised.

"How?" Cam asked.

"He said it was originally about revenge, not about destroying evidence or keeping me off a case. He was trying to hurt me, maybe kill me by the end of it, not scare me away. Most importantly, he used his left hand to cut me."

Cam's face opened in an expression of realization. "Our serial killer is right-handed."

She nodded. "Dr. Saroyan, do I have permission to return to work tomorrow?"

Cam looked startled and glanced at Sweets.

"You sure, Bones?" Booth asked worriedly.

"I'm sure. I've got this." She turned back to her boss.

Sweets looked her up and down. Then nodded to Cam.

"Alright." The pathologist answered. "As long as you take it easy, I see no reason why not." She smiled gently.

"Of course, you still aren't cleared for field work. This doesn't get you out of your sessions with me." Sweets added.

"Of course not." Brennan muttered dejectedly.

Booth laughed.

It felt good to hear that sound again. Her partner had been too serious as of late. Though she didn't quite understand why he was laughing, she joined him.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Back to the cases with less drama. Also a little more Sweets. Little shorter chapter this time, but not overly so. Thank you very much for reading.

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Four

^The following day- Friday afternoon

Brennan found herself once again staring at the bones of the latest victim, trying to ignore the cramp in her lower back as she sat bent toward the remains. It was the same thing she had been doing Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of that week, so she wasn't likely to see anything she didn't already know about. However, considering they were at a rather dead end with the investigation, she continued her work.

The victim's broken arm had occurred when it was wrenched to the side at great velocity. On Tuesday, she and Wendell had found tiny fractures on the carpal bones of the wrist as well. Based on the fracture lines, the necessary force and torsion to achieve such a break was most likely caused by a motor vehicle of some kind. The victim's arm was most likely inside or attached in some way and wrenched free, breaking the bone in the process. However, there was no way to tell what kind of vehicle it was, which didn't get them any closer to the killer. She was examining the stained gouge in the woman's seventh rib on the left side, when Booth entered the exam room.

"Got anything from staring at that rib?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he approached the lighted exam table.

She shrugged. "The concrete and silica that Hodgins examined came from this groove. I believe the woman was on the ground. Based on the angle of the damage, the culprit stabbed at her, driving his weapon into the ground, then brought some trace into the wound and onto the bone when he withdrew it. The wound matches all the others, so it was the same type of knife he used to kill the other women."

"Yeah, so since that's never happened before, it should be safe to assume it was a mistake. Something must have happened that changed the killer's original plan."

"Quite probable."

"No way to know what?"

Brennan shook her head. "No, but the only other anomalous thing about this skeleton is the broken arm and fractured carpal bones."

"Maybe related?"

"I doubt they occurred simultaneously. If you're suggesting that they are somehow related... I suppose it's a possibility."

"Is there any way to figure out where this all happened?"

"If we find the right concrete and silica combination. Hodgins ran tests on it, I have the report here." She retrieved the report from the stack beside her and looked it over again. "The concrete is a common Portland variety. Found too many places to narrow it down. The silica was identified as a powdered crystalline silica called Quartz Sand. It's a rather common variety mostly used in commercial glass manufacturing, but can also be used for producing a great deal of other things as well. Hodgins report says it was actually in rather high concentrations, so she most likely came into contact with it at some sort of warehouse or-"

"A yard where they keep that kind of stuff. So, maybe if we look at companies that would..." Booth trailed off as he started to move away.

"It's only a possibility, Booth. Not much to go on."

"Better than nothing." He said in response. "Can't hurt to look around." He stopped, eyed her, and stepped closer. "Bones, how are ya doin'?"

"Fine."

He frowned.

She sighed. "I'm doing well, Booth, whatever you may think. I may not remember anything that would help catch the culprit who attacked me, but I can help catch this one."

He continued to look her over for a minute. "You eaten?"

"Not yet." She answered, glancing at a clock. It was already twelve-thirty.

"Wanna get some lunch? I could pick you up so that we could eat at the diner in an hour."

She smiled and agreed, grateful for the break in what seemed like a fruitless endeavor. "But I've got a meeting with Sweets, so I'll just meet you there."

Booth threw her a grin. "Good."

"-and that was it really." She finished. "I lost consciousness after that and when I woke up, I was in the hospital. I don't see why I can't investigate with Booth out in the field yet. I'm not doing either myself or anyone else any good when I can't do my job."

Sweets grimaced. "That's not exactly what I meant. Dr. Brennan, you're ribs are still healing. It restricts you're movements."

"But does not completely disallow for field work, only denies full range of motion. If necessary, I can do almost anything I would normally be able to do. I have continued investigations with worse injuries."

"With worse emotional trauma?"

She gave him a look.

"Alright, even I don't really buy that something like that would keep _you_ from doing your job." Sweets sat back. "I suppose I am getting a lot of pressure to do anything I can to help you and Booth catch this serial killer. My profile isn't doing us a lot of good without any suspects."

"So it benefits everyone." She smiled at him hopefully. Honestly, she liked Sweets, even if she despised his profession. It was nice that he worried for her, but he also was the one with the power to send her back to the field or keep her back. The serial killer was still eluding their grasp, and people were dying. Who knew when another victim would show up. Taking a deep breath, she made the decision to provide a concession if it got her back out with Booth where they could catch their culprit. "I'll even continue sessions with you till you deem the matter resolved. I'll tell you anything you want to know, anything that I can remember. While I always listen to your advice, I promise to give serious consideration to anything you feel will help me. But keeping me out of the field, unable to help Booth, helps no one. I promise I will take it easy."

He looked her over, seeming to hesitate. "All right. All right, but you had better not miss a single session."

Brennan entered the diner for her late lunch in a glowing mood.

Booth was already there, staring glumly at a file on the table as he picked at his fries.

She snagged one as she sat down, popping it into her mouth with a cheeky grin. "Restricted field work authorization." She shared her good news in a rush.

His morose face broke into a genuine smile. "That's great, Bones. Just in time." He tapped the file on the table. "There's four places within easy access of where the remains were found in the DC area that use enough Quartz sand in their productions for a transfer of the amount Hodgins found. That shouldn't be too taxing for you. We can take a look after lunch, you know; poke around, ask some questions, request records. You sure you're up for that?"

"Yes, of course. Is... is that what's bothering you?" She asked awkwardly, stealing another fry.

He chuckled. "Nah. Actually... I was thinking about the guy that attacked you."

Suddenly, she felt even more uncomfortable. "Oh. Why? What about him?"

"Caroline talked with the guys in charge of the investigation. She's been keeping tabs on them while I've been doing a little poking around myself."

"You have?"

He gave her a look. "Yeah, Bones. She says they're looking into a guy named Charles de'Vort."

"Why him?" She felt her chest tighten and tried to tell herself the sudden upsurge in anxiety was foolish.

"They've been sifting through some of the hate-mail and creepy fan-mail the Jeffersonian intercepts for you, as well as your publishers."

"We catch murderers. There was bound to be a fair amount to sort through."

"Yeah. Charles de'Vort is the brother of a lady we put away a while ago. His letter was... unsettling."

"You read it?" For some reason she couldn't grasp, she really didn't like that thought.

"They thought I might have some insight."

"And did you?"

Sadly, he shook his head. "Sorry."

"There's no reason to apologize." She told him, shifting a little uncomfortably.

Booth waited as a waitress delivered her food, a bowl of vegetable soup. "I just wish I could help catch this guy. It can't be easy knowing he's still out there somewhere."

"Sweets told me that it's natural to feel some heightened anxiety." Truthfully, it sent a spike of fear up her spine even thinking about it, but she was getting very sick of her body's reaction, natural or not. She had had enough of being afraid. She shrugged. "I do hope they catch him, but I'd rather focus on solving this case, which is something you and I _can_ work toward and accomplish."

Unexpectedly, Booth smirked. "Now that's the Temperance Brennan I know."

She just rolled her eyes and stole another fry.

"I'm not wearing that damn mask again." Booth snarled, closing his car door harder than necessary.

"You should where it near the production yard, Booth. Quartz sand can cause a number of lung problems over a long period of time if the proper precautions aren't followed." Brennan answered him calmly through her own paper mask.

"What 'long period'? We've already checked two glass manufacturing yards today. Two more to go and we'll be done."

She lifted one shoulder in acknowledgment that he could do whatever he liked. "Technically, the last is a concrete company."

They located the plant supervisor's office, a run down looking old trailer with peeling siding and entered. Sitting in the uncomfortable chairs before the desk as the diminutive little man sat behind it, Booth started his customary string of questions as Brennan let her eyes wander around the room. Listening to Booth ask for lists and records pursuant to a FBI investigation, she cataloged the man's meager personal possessions. A common picture frame, a small stuffed duck, a cup that read some ridiculous phrase on its side, and a paper weight made of beautiful blue glass littered the desk. After a quick glance at the super, she reached out and picked up the paperweight.

It was a simple, but beautiful thing, it's elegant curves lining up perfectly with the shape of her fingers. She set it back down, then edged the picture frame just enough to see the contents. Ignoring an odd look from the supervisor, she picked it up to get a closer look. "Booth?"

He glared at her interruption.

In response, she simply held up the picture for him to see the small brunette it showed, her hazel eyes the same shade as her birth sisters.

"Valerie Cappen." Booth breathed in shocked recognition.

"Yeah, you know her?" The supervisor seemed surprised.

Booth turned a narrow-eyed look on him. "How do you know her, Mr. Blake?"

The man shrugged. "We used to date. H-Haven't been able to give up the picture yet."

"Did you ever meet her sister, Nicole Anderson?"

"Once. She stopped by the yard with Val. They were going to lunch."

"Didn't see her again?"

"No. The kid was alright, but a little spoiled. Tended to complain a lot. There wasn't really any reason for me to seek her out and when Val spent time with her, they usually wanted it to be just them. Why are you asked all this?"

Booth ignored the question. "When did your relationship with Ms. Cappen end?"

"Maybe four months ago."

The man answered readily enough to their other questions. Once they left, Booth seemed in an easier mood than he had been in all afternoon. He offered to buy dinner after they checked out the last company on their list. The supervisor, Richard Blake, had just become their top suspect.

^Booth's POV- that evening, around nine

The discovery of yet another set of remains in a buried cardboard box completely obliterated Booth's good mood. Trying desperately to reign in his snarls and barking snaps, he watched Bones work on the new set of bones. He followed the way her gloved fingertips slid along a long leg bone, her clear blue eyes focused so intensely on her task he doubted she heard the way he was snapping at her technicians.

"Female, Caucasian, late teens- early twenties." Her gaze focused even more fully. "There's something embedded in a wound on the parietal bone." Bones mumbled, using tweezers to excise something from the skull. She placed it in a dish Hodgins held out.

The bug man squinted at it. "Look like some kind of metal sliver. I'll get it analyzed." He hurried off to do his job.

Booth's attention wandered as Bones went back to the skeleton without speaking to him. He spotted Cam off talking with a guard and moved to join her as the guard left. The pathologist wore a pensive expression. "What's up?"

Cam hesitated. "Probably nothing."

Booth gave her a look he hoped conveyed that such an answer wasn't going to fly.

She smiled a little. "Just something Mbatu said."

"One of the night guards that got knocked out by Bones' attacker?"

"Yeah. He said that the other guard, Penning, was out on his rounds when Mbatu was attacked from behind. Blitz attack knocked him clean out, near the office. But, there was only one blood trail leading back into the office. The way that Penning was bleeding, there should have been a trail as well. If-if..." Her eyes widened a little and she looked over at Booth, who picked up her sentence as realization started to steel over him.

"If Penning was attacked first, there would have been another blood trail, even a trace one. We found no blood pools except those in the office, so he wasn't left anywhere till the blood clotted. If he was attacked after, he would have seen the other guards blood trail before he got anywhere near the office and therefore couldn't have been attacked in the office where they were found, unless..."

"That's certainly an odd fact that needs explaining. It's possible Penning made a mistake. Didn't follow protocol and sound the alarm immediately before running in to check on Mbatu, then tried to cover it up for fear of losing his job."

"Maybe, or maybe he was in on it." He growled, glancing at Bones up on the forensics platform. She was still bent at her task. "Still, I want to question him myself. Is he here or-"

"Penning took a few weeks vacation time he had. Not odd given the circumstances."

"But yet another fishy coincidence. I don't like it."

"I know you only have the basics that the FBI already gathered, so I'll go get you the rest of his info." She nodded behind him. "Think Dr. Brennan is looking for you."

He turned to see Bones headed his way.

"Booth! Our victim was a musician. Most likely some kind of stringed instrument. I found the cause of death though. A blow to the parietal bone. There's hemorrhagic staining on the skull. Angela and Wendell are entering the measurements of the radiating fractures into her computer program to figure out the dimensions and maybe get a murder weapon."

"Good. That's different. Looks like our guy is really slipping up. All that will probably take a while, right?"

"Probably, yes."

"Okay, I'll take you home to get some sleep."

"But we just got these remains." She said indignantly.

"They will still be there tomorrow. You're still recovering, you are supposed to be taking it easy. Besides, there is no way I am letting you stay here at night without me, not while whoever attacked you is still at large and we don't know how he got in here in the first place."

Bones gestured around. "They've increased security so much here, the people who work here can barely get in, including me."

"Still not going to let you be here without me."

She glared at him, her lips pursed. Then she huffed a sigh and began removing her lab coat.

He grinned at her, not voicing the fact that if it was Penning who attacked her, he was someone who worked at the Jeffersonian. Instead, he drove her home, checking her apartment before letting her be. After that, he sat in his car for a moment, looking over the files Cam had slipped him before they had left.

Steven Mbatu had been a night guard with the Jeffersonian Institute for almost three years. He was a model employee. Booth had met the man on several occasions. There was absolutely no reason to question his written statement to the police or Cam.

Albert Penning, on the other hand, was a completely different story. The man had a few reprimands for incompetence. One or two complaints of inappropriate behavior, bordering on harassment. All Booth remembered of him was Bones once saying that he was a jerk. There was nothing that would have kept him from being hired, nothing too serious, but it gave Booth an unsettled feeling. He drove back to the Hoover building and assigned a rookie to the task of running down the guy's complete history, resolving to go see if the guy was home the next day while Bones was busy doing her thing with the bones.

However, when the time came, no one answered the door. A neighbor, seeing him banging on the door, informed him that Penning was out of town. He was watching the guy's pet fish while he was gone. Would be back the beginning of the following week.

Booth squashed the list of questions on his mind, and thanked the man. "Contact me when you see him, but don't tell him I was here please. I need to speak with him in person, rather than having him trying to call me."

The man agreed.

Booth felt a little better for having accomplished that much. He would just have to be patient and wait for Penning to get back home where he could get to the bottom of all this.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: This chapter is more introspective on Brennan's part. I try to keep in character, but am unsure of my success. Hopefully, you like it anyway. Thank you so much for your reviews and alerts, they make my day much happier.

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Five

^Brennan's POV- Monday AM

Irritably, Brennan twitched her curtains back into place, blocking out the view of the police presence still outside her apartment building. She had woken up that morning feeling refreshed and almost back to normal. There was little lingering pain left in her chest. For the first time in a while, she had slept for almost five hours and hadn't felt like her ribcage had collapsed while she was sleeping like she had the past few weeks. Her mood soured with that single glance outside though. It was Monday, almost three weeks since her attack and she still had no idea who had attacked her. Or who the serial killer was either. She sighed in frustration and pulled on a jacket. There were bones to examine again and things to be investigated. Despite the fact that she had already been over the new remains several times already over the weekend, she would check a thousand more if there was even the possibility that more evidence was hiding just out of view.

About to grab her bag and head out the door, she paused when her cell phone rang. Despite her mood, when she saw who was calling, her face creased in a smile. "Brennan." She answered.

"Bones! I'm just pulling up outside. We've got a lead."

"Be down in a sec." She replied, hurrying to collect her things. Rather than wait for the elevator, Brennan took the stairs, cradling her chest so she could take the steps faster without further injury. Then jumping unceremoniously into Booth's passenger seat, she hissed a little as she jarred her healing ribs.

"Geez, Bones, you should be more careful." Booth said, waving at the police presence before pulling out.

"I may not have full range of motion back yet, but my cuts and bruises are fading and my ribs are healing well. I feel fine. My dentist even fixed my teeth." She flashed her teeth his way.

"I know and I'm happy for ya, Bones, but that doesn't mean you don't need to be careful. Your broken ribs could take-"

"Several months to heal." She interrupted with a scoff. "Yes, Booth, I am aware." Was he actually trying to advise _her_ about bones?

"Which means?" Booth persisted.

"Careful. Got it." She let her annoyance color her words. "You said we had something."

"Well, the ID we got for the last victim, Karen Rivers, came up with her personal history."

Brennan thought of the notification they had had to do on Saturday. The victims elderly father. Quickly she refocused on what Booth was saying.

"She was working as a florist in a local flower shop when she wasn't at school. Studying to be a music major."

Brennan nodded. "That certainly is consistent with the markers on her phalanges. What instrument did she play?"

"Viola and Bass violin. But that's not the lead."

"Then what is?"

"Angela has been working with the junior agents, sifting threw the records we got from all those companies we visited Friday. They found out the accounting office our victim, Emily Marcus, was doing an overview of the same company Richard Blake works for."

"So our prime suspect is now linked to not only two, but three of our victims and is now an even likelier candidate."

"You got it, Bones."

"Are there any other connections to any of the other victims?"

"Don't know yet. Thought we'd go straight to the Jeffersonian and get another update from Angela."

The second they entered the lab, Hodgins was there, drawing them to his office and talking so fast, neither of them could tell what he was saying, much less follow.

Booth sliced a hand through the air. "In English and slow." He growled threateningly.

Hodgins stilled, a look of consternation passing over his features, then he turned to a screen and brought up the results of his tests. "The metal sliver from the skull. It's from a vehicle, like a truck or van. Had paint on it. Narrowed it down to a paint primarily used on commercial vehicles. Delivery trucks and vans sold by a certain company. Got a list of places the vehicles were sold to in the area."

"That's pretty general." Booth stated.

"Dr. Hodgins, can you narrow it down any further?"

"Sorry." Hodgins shook his head. "But Ange said she got something working with the FBI techs. Maybe you should go see her."

"'K. Thanks." Booth turned away.

Thoughtfully, Brennan followed him. "Booth, doesn't it seem odd to you that a supervisor would be driving a company delivery truck?"

"Could be." Booth answered. "Maybe that's the point."

Angela smiled at them. "Hey big man. Hey Bren, how ya feelin'?"

"I'm fine." Brennan answered, actually feeling it rather than just saying it. "Hodgins said you found something?"

"The FBI techs and I were going over the information you guys retrieved, as well as Richard Blake's personal history. While there don't seem to be any more connections between him and the other victims, we checked into the other employees of the same company. A delivery truck driver by the name of Roger Clement took a cooking class with Elizabeth Mayhew, the third victim."

Booth glanced at Brennan. "The same connections Richard Blake has with Emily Marcus and potentially even Nicole Anderson could work for anyone else working at that company. Nicole did visit the yard with her sister, she could have met any number of employees."

"A driver would make a little more sense. No one would think twice about him using one of the company's delivery vehicles, which he could use to transport the victim wherever he chose." Brennan added thoughtfully.

Nodding, Booth took out his cell. "We need a warrant to check out the company's vehicles. I'll call up Caroline. She should be pleased. Meanwhile, we should go have a talk with this Clement guy."

"We're still checking the other workers as well as the rest of Roger Clement's personal's." Angela said, copies of paperwork and files flitting across the screen before her. "I'll give you a call if anything else comes up."

Booth nodded as he walked out, cell already to his ear.

"Thanks Angela." Brennan said with a smile, making to follow.

Angela stopped her with a hand. "Sweetie, are you sure you're okay? All this running around-"

Brennan laughed and squeezed her best friend's arm reassuringly. "Angela, I'm fine. Booth is being careful in making sure I take it slow and easy so I don't hurt myself. He's barely letting me do anything at all, which I'm sure isn't going to stop anytime soon. Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary."

"Hmm..." Angela hesitated. "I guess. I'm just worried about you."

Gently, Brennan returned the artist's small smile.

"How'd you sleep last night?" Angela asked with an eyebrow raised knowingly.

Having the distinct feeling that trying to pretend was going to get her in trouble, Brennan stuck with the truth. "Much better than I have been." She tilted her head slightly. "It'll get better Ange."

"Yeah, just let let me know if you need me or Jack to sleep outside your bedroom door with a baseball bat."

Brennan snorted, but then chuckled good-naturedly. She didn't fully understand what good such an action would do, as she could take care of herself quite well with her own baseball bat, but perhaps she didn't need to. The comment filled her with a sense of warmth either way. She hugged Angela carefully and finally followed the way Booth had gone.

He was waiting for her in front of the sliding glass doors, speaking anxiously to a worried-looking Cam. When he spotted her approaching, he broke off the conversation. "Thanks, Cam. Bones, you ready?"

"Yes." Brennan answered, giving Cam a curious look, but the pathologist quickly said a greeting and a farewell and was gone before she could ask any questions.

Booth just as quickly ushered her from the lab.

"Come on, I've got deliveries to make!" The man shouted at the CSU swarming over the vehicles belonging to the company they were investigating. He was unshaven, his scruff darker than his sandy hair. In his mid to late fifties, he was a burly man, with strong attachments and the stooped shoulders of someone used to manual labor.

The Crime Scene Unit ignored him and continued their work. Brennan watched them as she and Booth approached, disapproving ones slapdash procedure and approving the careful concentration of another.

Booth stepped up to the agitated man. "You Roger Clement?"

"So?" The man asked belligerently, folding his arms.

"Got some questions for you." Booth held out his badge.

"FBI? You responsible for this?" Clement waved an arm, encompassing the entire warehouse-like garage.

"Yep, that'd be us. You recognize this lady?"

Brennan held up a picture of the third victim, Elizabeth Mayhew.

Clement peered at the photo. "Guess she looks kinda familiar. Why?"

"Her name is Elizabeth Mayhew, you took a cooking class with her." Brennan prompted.

"Yeah, wife made me take that. So what?" The man scratched at his arm.

Brennan followed the movement, watching the curl of his fingers.

"So-" Booth said seriously. "-you are currently the only employee here at this company with a connection to our murder victim, that's what."

"Whoa." Clement backed up a step, holding up his hands. "Murder? I didn't kill anybody."

"Probably true." Brennan nodded. ]

Booth frowned at her.

"Look at his hands." She gestured.

Both Clement and Booth looked.

"Arthritis, right?" She asked. "It looks advanced enough that you would have difficulty handling small objects or performing tasks requiring fine motor skills. You can't be our killer, the cuts are too precise for you to be able to execute."

Booth sighed through his nose.

"Huh." Clement stared back down at his hands. "Guess these are still good for something after all."

"However, just because you aren't the killer doesn't mean you don't still have to provide alibis, as we can't rule out your possible involvement. Or you might have some information that would prove useful in our investigation."

"Have you seen any of these women, or seen anyone else here talking to them?" Booth handed over pictures of their other victims. "Maybe you've even heard them mentioned, or caught something from a conversation."

"Have you ever come into contact with any of them?" Brennan asked when the man hesitated.

"What have they got to do with the other one?" Clement asked, looking at the pictures in confusion.

"I'm asking the questions, sir." Booth said.

"Technically, Booth, I asked that last question."

A look of disgust crossing his face, Booth opened his mouth to argue, but Clement spoke first.

"Don't know any of the others, but this one-" He held up a picture of Emily Marcus from the accounting firm. "She came in here, poking around, asking all sorts of questions."

"About what?" Booth asked.

Clement shrugged. "Drivers, expenses, that sort of thing."

Brennan frowned a little to see Booth slightly leaning into the man's personal space. She realized belatedly that Booth must have seen something she had missed in the man's expression, because in the next moment Clement held up warding hands again.

"Wanted to know about any off the book drivers alright? Told her 'bout Pete."

"Who's Pete?" Booth asked.

"Uh, Pete Miller. Does deliveries when we're short handed, you know, odd jobs."

"Got info on this guy?" Booth backed up a step and took out a notebook.

One of the CSU's called out to her, beckoning her over.

She glanced at Booth, but decided he was duly occupied and slipped away. He didn't really need her for this part. Drawing close to the van the CSU was currently inspecting, she saw that they had pulled apart the sliding back door and it's lock to reveal trace amounts of blood that had escaped the cleaning the vehicle had been given. The careful man who had caught her eye earlier was the one who had called her over, and he held up a swab. "It's human."

"Send the whole van to the Jeffersonian and have it released to Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Hodgins so that they can begin processing it immediately."

There was a general murmur of assent as she turned back to Booth.

He snapped the notebook closed and thanked Mr. Clement for his help.

Brennan practically had to elbow her way through the agents in the bullpen to keep up with Booth as he strode to his office. Once there, she breathed a sigh of relief that was short-lived. In through the door came an agent who handed a file to Booth.

"Checked on that Pete Miller. No go."

Booth growled, maybe out of frustration.

"I don't know what that means." She said, out of breath and feeling every inch of the bruises still clustered around her healing ribs.

Looking at her sharply, Booth gestured her to a seat as he explained.

She sat gratefully, without argument.

"It means Pete Miller doesn't exist."

"It's an alias?" She asked, looking between the two agents.

"Yep."

"I'm trying to track it down now. Miss Montenegro agreed to do a sketch based off Mr. Clement's description. She, uh, also said to tell Dr. Brennan not to miss lunch again." He said the last in a rush, clearly embarrassed.

She scoffed a bit of a laugh.

Booth grinned. "Thanks."

The Agent left.

"Okay, Bones. You heard Angela."

"No, I heard an agent of the FBI relay a message from Angela." She couldn't keep the petulant tone out of her voice.

Booth just laughed.

After a quick lunch, Brennan returned to the Jeffersonian. Booth had gone back to the Hoover Building, leaving her be for the first time in a very long while.

A trill of panic and fear still laced up her spine when she entered her office, but she ignored it. It was bad enough that one of the places in which she had found the most comfort had been...defiled. She wasn't about to be kept away. She took a deep breath, calming herself. Despite her bodies unconscious reaction, she still felt relieved to be in the quiet, to catch up on the paperwork and E-mail correspondence that she had been neglecting all last week. Perhaps Angela had been right. All the running around had worn her out physically.

Finally, she headed down to Bone Storage, more colorfully called Limbo, where she could put attackers and serial killers out of her mind and simply do her work. She had plenty of time. Evidence collection and DNA testing could not be rushed. She felt more relaxed the second she pulled a skeleton from storage.

^Booth's POV- Monday 2:30 PM

Meanwhile, Booth was making a visit to the home of Albert Penning. After knocking for several minutes, he heard a sound, peeked around the porch, and saw a car hurriedly trying to pull out of the garage.

Leaping the railing, he trained his gun on the occupant through the windshield. "FBI! Out, now!"

The man inside raised his hands in surrender. Then slowly exited the vehicle.

Booth shoved the man up against the fence next to the driveway. "Albert Penning?"

"I didn't do anything!" The man yelled.

"Except assault and attempted murder of a world famous Forensic Anthropologist and best-selling author who works with the FBI, moron." Booth grunted.

"That wasn't me! I swear, I didn't know what would happen. He just asked me to get him inside, he never said anything about hurting anyone. I didn't think it could hurt. I never meant for anything to happen to Dr. Brennan or Steven. It's not like I got out of it unscathed either. He bashed me over the head!"

"Yeah, cry me a river." Booth growled in disgust. However, he realized with a sinking uneasiness that he believed the man, at least in part. He hauled the guy in and booked him for his part in the assault, making it very clear that his employment at the Jeffersonian was terminated. Then he sweated the guy in interrogation for barely an hour before he had almost everything the man could give him. Flipping open his cell, he called up Angela.

"Hey studly, I'm almost finished with that sketch of your serial killer suspect if that's what you're calling ab-"

"Angela, I need you to finish up in a hurry and meet me in interrogation, now. We may have a face for the bastard that attacked Bones."

There was a heavy pause. "I'll be right there." Then a dial tone followed the artists remark.

Say what you wanted about the artist, Booth mused, but she got fierce when it came to her best friend. He smiled.

Ten minutes later, Angela burst in, practically throwing a sketch at him. "There's Clement's fake Miller guy." Then clutched her sketchpad to her chest and swept into the room Penning occupied.

Booth looked down at the sketch she'd given him. The man looked average, with light eyes and high cheekbones. He left long enough to get everything running to track the man down, then returned to watch through the one-way mirror.

It took two hours before Angela was satisfied with what she'd drawn and handed it over to him outside the interrogation room. "Anyone _you_ recognize? Cause I've got nothing." She sounded disheartened.

Booth looked down at the drawing of a Caucasian male with thick dark eyebrows. He frowned. "Looks familiar, but I'm not sure why." He passed the sketch on to another agent. "Put a rush on that, get an ID as soon as possible. Look closely at relatives of those Dr. Brennan has put away."

The agent rushed away to do as told.

"Did you call and tell Brennan?" Angela asked.

"Not yet. Kinda wanted to wait till we got an ID at least. I'd rather not make it harder for Bones to sleep than it seems to be already."

"But you will call her first thing in the morning?" The artist persisted.

"I swear, Ange. This isn't something I would keep a secret. You did great today, by the way, why don't you go home?"

Angela shrugged. "Jack is still at the Jeffersonian anyway. I'll make sure Brennan goes home to get some sleep tonight. Goodnight, big guy. We'll get them both, don't worry. Go get some sleep yourself."

Scrubbing at the back of his neck, he smiled tiredly. "Can't, not yet. I've got a lot of work to do if we're gonna catch up to this monster before he kills again. Plus, I gotta make sure we get the guy that hurt Bones. I can't let her get hurt again."

She returned his smile sadly. "Yeah, I figured."

^Brennan's POV- Monday PM, around 8 o'clock

Emerging from Bone Storage, Brennan went to her office, noting that Angela's was dark and unoccupied. It explained why the artist hadn't made her stop for dinner like usual. She was surprised that Booth hadn't either, but if he had gotten a sketch from Angela, she suspected he was slogging through the FBI paperwork to find their suspect. She retrieved a nutrient energy bar from a drawer and sat back to eat it. Maybe it wasn't the best she could have done. She knew both Angela and Booth would say an energy bar wasn't a real meal, but she had gotten by on worse.

After it was gone, she grabbed up the files on the serial killer's victim's and went to her couch to review them. True, she probably knew the files back to front, but another look couldn't hurt.

The first file yielded the picture of 17 year old Olive Dumonte, the first victim. She was the youngest of their victims. Though she had been the second body found, Hodgins was able to determine that she was the first one buried, thanks to a colony of ants who had set up residence around them. The girl was short with blonde hair streaked with artificial black, her blue eyes glaring at the camera. Because her mother left shortly after she was born and her father was never in her life, Olive had lived with her grandmother. She'd graduated from High School earlier that year and had already been accepted to a college near her grandmother's home. Her skeleton had less staining than the others, meaning it took her a shorter time to die. Brennan couldn't help but be thankful for small favors.

The second file folder revealed a picture of May Lynn Tayura, formally May Lynn O'Conner, age 32. Her husband, Heishi Tayura, reported her missing three months before her bones were found by the FBI buried so close to Olive Dumonte. Of all the victims they had so far, this red-haired, green-eyed beauty was the only one pregnant at the time of her disappearance. No fetal bones were found, but her hip bones showed no sign of having given birth.

Elizabeth Mayhew was third. Though Brennan tried to prepare herself, she still blanched at the view of the tall blonde woman laughing in the picture, wrestling with her two children. Her brown eyes were focused on them rather than the camera. The boy Parker's age had his mother's warm brown eyes. Quickly, Brennan turned the photo upside-down and moved on to reading the rest of the file. The woman and her husband had been divorced but on good terms. According to him, their worlds revolved around their children. He had reported her missing immediately when she failed to pick the children up at school. At 35, she was the oldest of their victims.

Nicole Anderson's file was next. After the deaths of her parents, she and her older sister Valerie had been placed in Foster Care. Nicole was adopted by the Anderson's when she was 4 years old. Brennan shook her head. To be saved from Foster Care, only to die such a horrible death 18 years later at just 22. Gently, Brennan closed the folder on the brunette's hazel-eyed stare.

The next picture had Emily Marcus with her small, 2 year old boy on her lap, both smiling at the professional photographer. It turned Brennan's stomach and suddenly she regretted eating at all. The boy looked just like his 26 year old mother. Strawberry-blonde hair, light brown eyes. The woman's broken arm suggested she had tried hard to get back to him. Since Emily had been a single mother, he was now living with his grandparents in Wyoming. Trying to keep her energy bar down, Brennan put the file aside and picked up the last.

19 year old Karen Rivers was holding her viola cradled in her hands carefully. There was a second picture of the green-eyed brunette surrounded by a mountain of flowers. Her mother having died when she was in High School, it had just been she and her father. The memory of the kind old man sobbing brokenly into his hands wasn't something Brennan was likely to ever forget. Unlike all the other victims, it was clear Karen had died from the blow to her skull. She wondered at the implications of that.

Brennan sat back on the couch and stared at the too numerous files spread out on the coffee table. Six victims. Six families irreparably damaged. Why these women? Why these lives? She looked at the photographs of the bones in their individual boxes. Why kill them like that? Torture them? Not that murders ever made sense, but... Sweets' profile said they were looking for a male, somewhere between the ages of 30 and 60, who liked to dominate, degrade and torture women. Probably had a reputation for being cruel or mean. Definitely a medical background, but an unsuccessful one. Brennan had figured that first part out for herself. The defleshing technique used was too precise for someone without at least some training- a butcher or medic of some kind. But the cuts were placed so exactly over places sure to produce steady, slow bleeds that a medical background was a must. She snorted. Here she was, contemplating a psychological profile.

Sighing in frustration, Brennan messaged her forehead. Psychology really gave her a headache.

"Sweetie?" Angela came into the office. She looked down at the spread files, then continued gently. "Time to go home and get some sleep. Come on, Jack and I will drive you home." The artist took her by the elbow.

"You don't have to." Brennan said, though she didn't resist as Angela led her away from the baffling cases.

"I know. That's a big reason why we want to."

Brennan shook her head, not understanding the unclear phrasing. "I don't know what that means."

Angela smiled. "Yeah, but tonight you don't have to. Come on."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Tying things together. This one is a little shorter and starts with a dream. Thanks for reading.

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Six

^Dream

At the Founding Father's bar, Brennan drank down the beer before her, hoping it would later prolong her unconsciousness. She sat on a stool at the long length of bar enclosing the bartender, an amorphous man she couldn't distinguish. It was odd, because she was pretty sure she had met all the bartenders who worked here. Maybe a new one had been hired. She felt someone take the seat beside her. It wasn't Booth, that she knew without looking. As whoever it was leaned a little closer, she wrinkled her brow in distaste. She was really in no mood to be hit on tonight.

"Hey bone lady."

The sibilant voice seethed into her ear and seemed to freeze her blood. Her body seized. The bottle clutched hard in her right hand sloshed as she trembled slightly. Horrible memory of a covered face hovering inches from her own and foul-smelling breath brushing her cheek flashed through her mind. Her heart seemed to falter with her frozen veins, then picked up triple time, racing in her chest so fast she could see the thrum at the pulse point in the curve of her own throat where the carotid passed.

About to turn her head toward this menace, she was stopped by the press of lips to her ear. "Ready for the party?"

^Tuesday- AM

Brennan startled awake, her heart hammering in her chest so hard it physically hurt. She gasped, unable to move or do anything but tremble. Was this what it felt like to have a heart attack? Finally, her arm regained feeling and she reached up to put her hand over her heart. She tried to breathe slow and steady to stop its painful thumping. Eventually, it eased.

Turning her head, she sighed. She was curled into the corner of her bed, blankets wrapped around her in a knot. Her room was dark, only a gentle light coming in through the curtains pulled crookedly over her windows. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 4:06 in the morning. She had been asleep for five and a half hours. It consoled her that at least she hadn't lied to Angela. It _was_ getting better.

Extricating herself from her covers, Brennan plodded to her bathroom and took a long shower, washing away the feeling of being touched from her ear with hard scrubbing. The clock glowed 5 a.m. by the time she was done, so she went to the kitchen and spent almost an hour fixing herself some breakfast. Her cell rang at exactly 6 a.m. "Brennan." She answered without seeing who was calling, still stirring.

"Hey Bones." Booth's familiar voice rang over the other end, sounding distinctly worn.

Suddenly, she felt guilty for getting as much sleep as she had while her partner was working. "Hey." She responded. "Did you find the owner of the Pete Miller alias?"

"Uh, we're still tracking down the real ID. Seems whoever this guy is, he's got more than one. We should have him by this afternoon sometime. That's not really why I called you though."

"Oh?" She finally dished her food out of the pan onto her plate. It smelled delicious and the energy bar from the night before had been consumed far too long ago. She quickly spooned some into her mouth even though it was hot enough to burn.

"I told you I've been poking around, you know, about who attacked you."

She stopped chewing.

"Caught up with one of the night guards at the Jeffersonian that was attacked. His story was a little off."

Brennan forced herself to swallow. "Off?"

"Yeah, something just didn't fit. Seems Albert Penning lied in his report. When I went to question him, he tried to run. I took him to interrogation and Angela and I got a sketch of the guy he said paid him to get him into the Jeffersonian."

"So that's how he got past the other security measures." She murmured. "Cam will be pleased, I know she was worried about all the seemingly wasted money funneled into the security at the Lab."

There was a drawn out pause on the phone. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I'm sure everyone will be glad to catch this bastard. We got a hit off the sketch, Bones. Does the name Walter Elbert mean anything to you?"

She considered it for a moment. "Not really, no."

"He wasn't at his home or his work, so there's now a Bolo out on the guy and the cops in charge of the investigation are running down his financials. Won't be long now."

Brennan knew she should feel relieved. They had a name and with that it definitely wouldn't be long till he was caught. However, all she felt was a little ill.

"Bones?"

She realized she had been sitting silent on the phone for several minutes. After a deep breath, she found her voice again. "Thanks Booth."

"Sure Bones. Listen, do you want to have lunch at the diner?"

So relieved he hadn't insisted on picking her up from home again, she immediately agreed.

They hung up.

She sat there for almost ten minutes without moving, letting her mind wander, running through possibilities. Then she shut down that line of thinking, stood silently, and dumped her uneaten breakfast in the garbage.

After spending the rest of the morning looking over the remains of Karen Rivers yet again, Brennan was interrupted by an excited Hodgins.

"I found fibers on the boxes tape creases. Long, thin fibrous crystals, silicate minerals. Serpentine class chrysotile."

She frowned. "Asbestos?"

"You got it. Must have been in the place the box was taped together." He paused. "I ever tell you how awesome it is when you understand me?"

Her brow creased. "I often understand you, Dr. Hodgins, you're quite intelligent."

He grinned. "Thanks. I just mean, you're usually the only one who does."

"Oh. Well then, you're welcome."

His grin widened. "I was thinking, Dr. B, if this guy didn't take proper precautions and was exposed to both Quartz Sand and Asbestos-"

"He might have some very serious health problems. I'll tell Booth." She glanced at her watch. "I'm meeting him for lunch in just a few minutes. I just have to finish up here." At noon, Brennan headed gratefully for the diner. Her stomach was growling at her angrily for throwing her breakfast away and she was looking forward to relaying the news of the asbestos fibers Hodgins discovered. She beat Booth there, and their table was occupied, so she sat at the counter. It wasn't long before Booth joined her.

"Okay." He said as soon as he sat. "Pete Miller's real name is Scott Tomlinson. Lives in a flat in Alexandria."

She frowned. "Anywhere near where Valerie Cappen lives?"

"Nah, other side of town. We can't get a hold of him and he has no place of employment as Tomlinson. He does have a girlfriend though, according to his neighbors. We don't have a name, but they did say she works at a Roastery Cafe in downtown Alexandria.

"Is that where we're going after lunch?"

He glanced at her. "Yeah, I mean, if you're up to it."

She scoffed.

"Okay." He held up his hands defensively. "So, how was _your_ morning?"

They ate their lunches as Brennan explained Hodgins' findings. At the mention of the illnesses caused by Quartz Sand, such as Silicosis, Bronchitis, or Cancer; then illnesses brought on from asbestos exposure like malignant lung cancer, Mesothelioma, or Asbestosis, Booth opened his cell and asked Caroline Julien to get a warrant for Scott Tomlinson's medical records.

With a patient smile, she repeated the illnesses to him slowly. When that didn't work, she stole his phone from him, holding him off with a firm hand on his chest as she told the attorney on the line the proper names of what they were looking for over Booth's protests. Then she handed the phone back, ignoring her partners scowl as she finished her food, trying not to smile.

The drive to Alexandria took almost two hours this time, with traffic heavy. Brennan stared out the window as they crossed the bridge, then traveled south alongside the Potomac River. There was very little conversation shared between them as they drove. For her part, she remained silent because she was thinking about the man that had attacked her. She knew she should be concentrating on the case, but her mind kept returning to him without her consent. How much had he paid the guard to let him in unnoticed to the Jeffersonian? How had he gotten his hands on the paralytic he had used on her? She wondered what his motive was, why he had been trying to get revenge in the first place. Revenge for what? Surely there was a reason he had cut her so badly besides the fact that she had made him angry. That thought was straying into Sweets territory and she still had more than enough sessions with him prodding at her every emotion, so Brennan turned her attention to the man beside her.

Booth was looking drained, but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised.

"Did you get _any_ sleep last night?" She asked quietly.

Startled at the break in the silence, Booth hesitantly shook his head.

Silence regained its foothold. Once they arrived at the cafe in the downtown area of Alexandria, they hopped out and went inside. At the busy counter, a harried looking woman asked them what she could get them. She was overweight and short, but pretty, about 25 years of age. Brennan wondered if this was who they were looking for.

Booth held out his badge. "I need to speak to the manager."

The woman left quickly without a word and returned with a balding man in his late 50's. "I'm the owner." He said, looking intimidated.

"FBI, sir." Booth introduced himself. "This here's my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We were told that you have an employee here, a young woman, who has a boyfriend by the name of Scott Tomlinson?"

The owner looked at the employee who had gotten him.

The woman blinked in surprise. "That's Ralie's ex's name."

"Who?"

"Ralijah Mahar." The owner answered. "She's an employee here. She was supposed to be working with Casey today, but she never showed up."

"I haven't seen her since we closed up on Friday." Casey said anxiously. "Why are you looking for her?"

"We need to speak to Mr. Tomlinson." Brennan answered. "You said ex?"

"Ralijah broke up with him a few weeks ago. He was really sweet to her at first, but he'd been acting weird and started creeping her out. They were only going out for a month."

"Can you give us Miss Mahar's information? We really need to speak to her as soon as possible. Her safety could depend on it."

The owner nodded. "Sure. Yes, of course. I've got an address and phone number."

They left the cafe with Ralijah Mahar's information in hand. She didn't answer her phone, so they decided to visit the address. It was in the Old Town North area. The apartment building was small, but newer. They stood knocking on Mahar's door for ten minutes. Finally, Booth motioned that they should leave. Outside the apartment building, his cell rang. He pulled back and spoke quietly into it.

Brennan waited patiently.

When he got off the phone, he looked cross. "Caroline got the warrant for the medical records. Scott Tomlinson was diagnosed with lung cancer six months ago. However, his apartment building wasn't built with asbestos." He glanced back. "This place looks pretty new too. The asbestos wouldn't come from here."

After a moment's thought, Brennan pulled out her own cell and made sure to speak quietly, as Booth had.

"Hello?"

"Ange, the FBI has Scott Tomlinson's personal information. I need you to do a search on building's with any possible associations with him or the company he works for and see if there are any cases of asbestos exposure."

"Yeah, sure, I can do that. Give me a minute."

She waited.

"Bren, looks like there were a few law suits for accidental asbestos exposure at a building where Tomlinson used to work. It's a packaging company near the river that shut down last year. It's still empty. I'll send you the address."

"Thanks."

They made an unspoken agreement to check out the address Angela sent them. If nothing else, they could return and continue, but this inability to reach Mahar in any way was making them both uneasy.

The day was fairly sunny, but with plenty of cloud cover. Next to the river, the temperature plummeted. The building they were looking for was among a group of others like it, but obviously long unoccupied given its state of disrepair. Booth called in their location and asked for a local PD presence as backup since the FBI couldn't get there as fast. Though the door was apparently dead-bolted, Booth tapped it and discovered it had been cut. They went inside cautiously, Booth drawing out his gun as they did.

The inside was much like Brennan expected of a derelict building. Echoing silence and mostly empty rooms. Trash littered the floor, with sprinklings of mouse droppings. The scurrying shuffles of the tiny creatures made the space seem even creepier than the dim lighting and horrid smell already did. A sound of movement larger than a mouse drew their attention to a room filled with what must have once been an old assembly line. She looked over what remained of it. "Boxes are the same." She mouthed, whispering so quietly there was barely any sound at all. Booth motioned her to stay put, but she just glared at him and followed anyway. She was not about to let her partner go into a potentially dangerous situation alone without backup just because she was only authorized for Restricted Field Work.

An entrance at the back of the room let into what used to be a refrigerated storage room. Now it just smelled of damp and mold. The thick door made a squeak that had them frozen in their tracks for a few long moments. When nothing happened, they came in the rest of the way. Rickety metal tables on every side looked like they were on the verge of collapse. The room was partitioned in half and it was from the other side of the partition that sounds were coming from. They edged closer.

What was clearly a muffled scream sent Booth rushing forward into the room and Brennan sidled not far behind. What they came in on was something out of a nightmare. Two women were tied up, one by the door, another on the table where a man with dirty looking blonde hair was standing, blade in hand. There was only time for her eyes to register that much.

The man turned at their footsteps, saw them, and took two steps for the door on the opposite side of the room in the time it took Booth to finish shouting

"Tomlinson, FBI!"

Tomlinson didn't stop.

Booth's bullet passed through the guy's lower leg and out the other side, sending a spray of blood across the concrete floor. "Drop the knife!" Booth yelled, getting closer to the fallen criminal.

Brennan caught sight of the culprit's eerie smile and called Booth's name in warning just as Tomlinson raised the knife to cut his own throat. Acting quickly, Booth shot him through the hand and then kicked the knife away. Tomlinson cried out when he was shot again, but then started to laugh. After Booth had hand-cuffed him and was calling for an ambulance, Brennan turned away. She decided to ignore Tomlinson, sure he wasn't going to be able to cause more trouble. She turned her attention to the woman tied on the table. Carefully, she peeled the gag away from the girl's mouth. The woman had dark brown hair that was matted with blood running onto the table, brown eyes wide with fear but clouded with pain.

"It's okay, we're here to help you. You're safe now." Brennan said as soothingly as she could. She took off her coat, tying it quickly with the arms around the cut on the woman's leg, stemming the flow of blood. "Can you tell me your name?"

"K-Krista H-Horov-vitz." The girl stuttered.

"Krista, it's going to be okay."

"Here." Booth threw his coat to her and she used it to stop the bleeding from the cut on the woman's arm.

"An ambulance is on the way." Booth said gently.

Brennan looked at the other woman. "Are you Ralijah Mahar?"

The Indian woman nodded shakily. Her tear streaked face was grimy with dirt, black where there should be a gentle brown.

"Are you bleeding?"

She shook her head.

"I need to keep pressure on her wounds. If I take the time to come untie you, can you help me with that?"

The girl nodded again.

Brennan hurried over, untied Ralijah's bonds and rushed back. The girl instantly wrapped her hands over Krista's arm wound while Brennan kept pressure on the leg.

"Bones, we need to switch. This guy's leg is still bleeding bad."

"Hurry then."

Booth took her place at Krista's leg.

Hesitantly, Brennan approached Tomlinson. The man was almost completely passed out. Booth had tied his tie about the wound on his hand and the man's own shirt around the leg wound. The bleeding there was still flowing into the already soaking portion of the shirt pressed to the wound. The blood was deep red and sluggish, not a bright spurt, so the danger of him bleeding to death was greatly reduced. She untied the shirt, moved it, retied it and applied as much pressure as she could. "You're going to survive and go to prison for the rest of your life." Brennan whispered firmly. "Where you won't be able to hurt another woman ever again."

Once the bleeding abated, she and Booth switched back. Ralijah said Krista had been injected with something, so Brennan wanted to have a look. Plus her presence, as a female, was more comforting to the women. "Must have been a coagulant." She murmured after checking both the wounds and the injection site. Her nose crinkled unconsciously at the idea that Tomlinson had used the drug to prolong his victim's lives. The quick death of Olive Dumonte suddenly made sense. After her, he had begun using the drug to make it more slow and agonizing. Apparently, Booth's thoughts were running along the same line as hers because she saw him shudder out of the corner of her eye.

Finally, the wail of sirens could be heard dimly through the walls. Young Krista was gathered by the paramedics first. It was ironic really. The drug Tomlinson gave her to prolong her torture was probably going to save her life. Ralijah went with her. The two women didn't want to be separated and Ralijah had a large lump on the back of her head that needed medical care.

Tomlinson was taken to the hospital in cuffs via a different ambulance, where his hand and leg would be treated.

Across the now crowded room, Brennan shared a small triumphant smile with Booth.

"To a case finally closed, the women we saved and the ones we couldn't save." Brennan said solemnly.

Around her, gathered at a table at the Founding Fathers, were the "squints" as Booth called them. Cam, Hodgins, Angela, even Wendell. Booth sat next to a few agents from the FBI and Sweets. Even Caroline Julien had joined them for drinks to celebrate the close of this case. They all raised their glasses in toast with her and drank it down.

"And about time too!" Hodgins said loudly, already a few drinks ahead of everyone else.

"Hear, hear!" Cam said darkly. She downed her drink, then stood. "I'd love to stay, but Michelle's waiting up for me."

They all bade her goodnight.

"We got our guy, Bones." Booth said, leaning close. He wasn't far behind Hodgins on the drinks.

"We always do." She responded with a smug smile.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Well, that was weird. Sorry about Chapter Six. I had a little trouble with this chapter. Couldn't for the life of me finish it sooner, I got a bit stuck. Guess I was too distracted. Life has a way of doing that. Anyways, here's the last chapter. It's been fun, thanks for stickin' with it.

Warning: Contains Physical Assault and mentions of painful murders. Please do not read if you do not have the stomach for such.

Disclaimer: The show is not mine, nor do I lay claim to it in any way. Only this writing and the new characters are mine. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Seven

^Thursday- late afternoon

It had been two days since they had caught their serial killer. Two days since Caroline had found the identity that Scott Tomlinson used to attend a medical school in Texas. Two days since they had gotten the ID of the man that had attacked Brennan in her own office. However, there was still no sign of him, despite the Bolo and the manhunt Booth seemed determined to head searching the city and surrounding area for him. Airports were being watched. Highway Patrol was keeping an eye out for his car. Walter Elbert seemed to have vanished.

As a result, Booth's mood was horrible and getting fouler by the hour. It was getting to the point where it was hard to be around him, especially with her own emotions in a tangled knot she would need three days and a large ax to sort out. Those at the lab seemed to notice too. Each had tried their own methods of getting the agent to unwind. From Cam being his drinking buddy to Hodgins use of tickets to some kind of sporting event. None had been successful. Now he was pacing her office, his suit pants making odd swishing noises as he passed back and forth.

Her temper was pressing hard at its last bulwark. "Booth, will you sit down already?" She asked irritably, looking over a file she hadn't read a word of since he had walked in the door.

Booth did as she asked, but his leg began bobbing up and down in a quick rhythm that was even more annoying then his pacing.

Angrily, she threw her file on the table, reached over and stopped his leg with a firm hand. "Booth, stop." Her voice was a growl.

"Sorry, Bones, but how hard can it be for the F. B. I. to find _one_ criminal? And an amateur one at that!"

"Apparently quite hard. You should have just left it to the police, Booth."

"I am the police."

"You're FBI. You have better things to investigate than one case of assault and the breaking and entering of a federally connected facility."

"Attempted _murder_, Bones. He almost killed you." Booth growled back.

"But didn't."

Agitated, Booth rose to his feet. "How can you be so cavalier about this? Don't you want him caught?"

"Of course I do, but worrying about it isn't going to help anyone. Obviously Mr. Elbert is very good at hiding. It's okay, Booth. He'll make a mistake, get himself caught eventually."

"I still don't think they should have removed the police presence from in front of your apartment building yet."

"Its been over three weeks. They can't keep a squad car outside my home indefinitely."

"They could have at least waited till they caught the guy." Booth grumbled.

Leaning back, Brennan sighed. "I don't need a police presence Booth. Besides, what if they never do?"

Booth looked at her in shock. "What?"

"What if they never catch him? Am I supposed to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder like a frightened child?" She tilted her head to the side. "I've tried to accept that we may never find him. Maybe you should too. I want him to go to jail for what he did, I do. But he has already had too much influence on my life." Without thinking about it, she rubbed her arm, right where one of her fading cuts slashed the skin.

Booth watched her, his eyes following the movement. "Do they hurt?" He asked after a moment.

Surprised, she looked at her arm, fingers pressed to the soft fabric of her shirt. "The cuts?"

He nodded. His expression almost looked frightened.

She frowned. "Not really. They itch." She sat back further. "Is that what's had you so worried? You think I'm still hurting?"

Though he didn't answer, she took his silence to mean an affirmative as he sat beside her. She leaned toward him a little. "I'm not. All right? I'm not hurting. I'm not even scared, not really. I have as much chance of being attacked again as I did to begin with. I even have you on speed dial if anything happens." She sidled even closer. "Come on. I have a session with Sweets, but after that, we could get take out together."

He chuckled. "Yeah Bones. I'd like that."

She grinned. It gave her an happy feeling to know she was the one whose method at getting Booth to unwind seemed to be succeeding.

"Do you want a ride to the Hoover building?"

"Sure."

"Why would you tell Booth you're not concerned?" Sweets asked.

"Because I'm not. Not really, at least. I don't think I am. I'm fairly confident in the ability of the police to find him and have no inclination to try and find him myself."

"Why do you think that is? Usually you seem to concentrate on "catching the bad guy". What's changed?"

Her mouth twisted at his air quotations, but then she frowned. "I don't know." She unconsciously rubbed her arm, just like before, and just like before, her companion's eyes followed the action.

"You said you aren't feeling any pain, so why do you keep doing that?" Sweets asked abruptly.

"They itch." Brennan answered defensively. Then she sighed. "I don't know, all right? I don't know any it. I hate that I don't know, but I don't."

Sweets studied her for several long minutes while she sat silently picking at the hem of her skirt. "More nightmares?"

She looked away.

"What happened this time?"

Agitated, she rubbed her forehead, then leaned forward and rested on her fist, her elbow on her knee. "I'm drinking. At the Founding Father's. He comes." She closed her eyes, almost feeling the breath on her ear. "And I can't move. I want to look at him, but I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"He's too close. He's talking to me."

"What does he say?"

Brennan leaned back in her seat and sighed. "He says the same things he said before."

"The "bone lady" and "ready for the party?" lines from your other dreams?"

She nodded.

"You said they held no specific meaning for you other than his original usage of them."

"They don't, not that I can think of at least."

"Does it bother you, that you can't move in your dream?"

"Yes." Obviously.

"Because you can't fight back?"

She shrugged. "I suppose."

"You felt powerless."

Not knowing what to say to that, Brennan remained silent.

Sweets resumed his examination of her. "Dr. Brennan, what made you go into your office?"

Her mouth dipped in a frown. "You mean when Booth dragged me inside?"

"After that. What made you come back and go in, even knowing something of what you would have to remember?"

She hesitated.

"What were you thinking before you did it?"

Her brow creased as she thought back. "Something that Booth said."

"Which was?"

Brennan fixed him with her best stare. "Dr. Temperance Brennan doesn't flinch from a fight."

"What do you think that means?"

She rolled her eyes. "Does it _have_ to mean anything?"

He didn't comment, only waited.

She sighed again. "It... he had changed... something. I was acting different. That-That was what frightened me. Not him coming back for me because I survived. Not the the even fact that I was hurt and couldn't remember what happened. What scared me was the fact that he could make me act like anyone or anything but myself and that I hadn't even noticed. Even if I couldn't picture his face, going to my office was... like facing him. Proving that I was still... me." She tried to avoid seeing Sweets' look of sympathy.

"Dr. Brennan... did you look at the sketch Angela did that got the ID in the first place?"

After a moment of thought, she shook her head.

Immediately, Sweets got to his feet. He went to his desk behind his chair and opened a drawer, from which he then pulled a file. He glanced at her. His steps were slow as he came back to her and handed it over.

After a deep breath, Brennan opened it and looked at the picture lying inside. His eyes had the same piercing quality that she remembered. She was startled by the thick dark eyebrows. At the slant at the corners of the eyes. He looked familiar, but she supposed that was normal. A sense of familiarity was to be expected. Seeing it didn't make her feel better though, if that was indeed Sweets' intention. In fact, she felt worse. She swallowed. "Angela really is good isn't she?"

The psychologist resumed his seat. "Is that all you have to say?"

Frustrated, she snorted. "What do you want me to say? Why did you show this to me?"

"Because... Dr. Temperance Brennan doesn't flinch from a fight." Sweets said gently.

She looked down at her hands clutching the file in a death grip.

"In your dream, you are unable to move. Unable to face your tormentor. This could be a reflection of how he really made you feel. Helpless. Unable to face the danger head on, first by blitzing you from behind, then by drugging you into immobility. He robbed you of the ability to really face him, by disguising his face from you. On top of all that, you lost your memory of the attack. A part of you must have known that even remembering wouldn't give you his identity. Anyone would avoid it, heck, _I_ would avoid it. However, that's not who you are, which Booth and Angela helped you realize. I'm simply trying to do the same."

Brennan could only think that that was a lot of assumptions to make. She didn't know what to think of the rest of it.

Sweets pointed at the sketch. "That is the face of Walter Elbert, your attacker. Use some time to really look at it. To face him and what happened head on."

A part of her was annoyed with this conversation to the extreme. Another wondered if he was correct. Was she really just avoiding the confrontation again? She avoided thinking about what happened, but that was because such an action would provide no help to her or anyone else. It wasn't rational; what was in the past was in the past. Was that the same as flinching? She gazed at the picture. He seemed like every other person in the world. Ordinary really. Maybe a little dark, but still someone you might see on the streets and wouldn't remember unless you already knew them. Only his eyes stirred memory in her head and that wasn't something she wanted to reflect on. Was that the point?

"I think that's enough for today, Dr. Brennan. You may go when you want to."

The psychologist's voice barely registered. She had the oddest sensation that she was missing something. Her hands closed the file and before she realized it, she was out of her seat and out the door, the picture lying on the table that had been between them. She hurried away, trying to put distance between herself and the stirrings of her subconscious. Making a quick path to Booth's office, where he said he would wait for her, she stopped only when she caught sight of her partner. Her lips lifted in a small smile.

The agent was asleep, leaning back in his chair with his feet up.

She chuckled.

The second Booth heard the sound he woke and blearily rubbed sleep from his face. "Bones? Hey, how'd it go this time?"

Unable to control the reflex, she winched as her frown returned.

When he caught sight of her expression, he was out of his chair and moving toward her before she could blink. "Bones, you okay?"

She sighed. "Define okay." What she really wanted to do was not talk about anything Sweets might have said to her. She had a headache and just wanted to sit down. "I need a drink. A strong one. Care to join me?"

He blinked owlishly, caught off guard. "Uh, what about food?"

"We can pick some up on the way to your place. You do have alcohol, right? Strong alcohol?"

"Um, yeah, sure. But..."

"Okay, let's go." She turned and left, not waiting for him to gather up his things and hurry after her. On the ride to his apartment after picking up the take-out, she didn't speak, though Booth tried to engage her in conversation several times. Instead, she thought about what Sweets had said. Her thoughts circled round and round each other till her headache expanded to a steady throb at her temples. Once through the door, she threw her things to the floor beside it, grabbed their strong drink and sat on the couch.

Booth stood watching her from the doorway. When she didn't open the bottle right away, he collected glasses and sat beside her. "Bones? Geez, what did the kid say to you?"

She stared fixedly at her hands. Why was she so agitated?

"You're acting like you did when Sweets told you I was worried."

Frowning, she turned toward him. He looked lost and concerned, like he had no idea what was going on. "Am I? Am I still not acting like myself?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Now I'm _really_ confused."

"Am I not acting... like me?" Why on earth was it always so hard to articulate how she was feeling? "Am I still the same person you've always known?"

"Of course you are. Why are you asking this?"

"You said, before, that the Dr. Temperance Brennan you know doesn't flinch from a fight. Have I been flinching?"

Still looking confused, Booth turned more fully toward her. "You mean about Elbert?"

"Is it just flinching, to not want to know if he's caught or not? I care, I suppose, but... I don't want to think about him at all. Is that the same as flinching?" She looked into Booth's eyes. "I don't want to be different because I'm scared. You have to tell me because you noticed before. Is it changing how I react to things?"

He was silent for a long time, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. When he finally turned back to her, he was still thoughtful. "You're still the same person, Bones. He doesn't have power over you, if that's what has you worried about."

"You have a copy of the sketch?" She asked suddenly.

"What? Oh, yeah, I've been keeping one on me since-"

Her outstretched hand cut him off.

Hesitating only slightly, Booth drew the paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

She took the folded piece of paper and set it on the coffee table. Then she retrieved one of the glasses, filled it to the brim, and quickly down the whole thing, pulling a face as the liquor burned the back of her throat. She smoothed the wrinkles from the paper, laying it flat, and looked at it once again. As she did, she mumbled, not caring that from where Booth was sitting he would definitely be able to hear her. "I don't recognize him. His face was covered. But the eyes are the same. I remember the eyes." Memory tried to surface again and this time, she let it. Her stomach turned as she remembered how close he had gotten to her face in those moments when electricity was burning through her system, making her convulse on the floor. Those dark eyes. They had seemed familiar even then. "But he does look familiar." She tried to think of why. Dark eyes shrouded by thick dark eyebrows. Her mind shifted to her dream. The drink in her hand, his voice in her ear. His breath on her skin. The bartender offering her another drink.

She frowned. "The bartender."

"What?"

Thoughtfully she turned to her partner. "The bartender at the Founding Father's. I didn't recognize him the last time we went, but we know all the people who work there. He was new." She thought about their celebratory drinks. The bartender in the background, watching her make her toast. Realization shocked through her just as effectively as the voltage had. "He had the same eyes. Same thick dark eyebrows."

Booth frowned, then quickly pulled out his cell.

She didn't know who he was on the phone with, nor did she care. All she did was silently stand and retrieved her things from the floor. Soon, Booth was off the phone, guiding her out the front door without another word.

The Founding Father's bar was packed when they arrived. It took all their strength and commanding presence to shove their way to the bar. The bartender there was not the new one she remembered but an old regular that served them often.

He smiled to see them. "Usual?"

"Not tonight." Booth said soberly. "We're looking for a new guy who was working here three nights ago."

"Dark eyes, thick dark eyebrows."

"Only one new guy that matches that description. Manuel Solis. " The man grunted distastefully. "That guy got himself fired. Management didn't like the way he treated the customers and he was acting really weird too."

"Weird how?"

"Kept muttering to himself, started freaking out the rest of us. He also kept taking too many breaks. Would meet out the back with some guy that gave Eva the creeps." He gestured the back way.

"Seen that guy lately?"

"Not since Solis got himself fired. He stopped coming around."

"Any idea who he was?"

"Solis called him 'menino'."

"That's Portuguese. It means..." She had to think for a second. "'Boy', I think."

"How many languages do you know?" Booth asked incredulously, but returned to questioning without waiting for an answer. "You got info on this guy Solis?"

"You gotta ask management."

It took them two hours to bring in the manager and another one to get the woman to tell them anything.

Booth's phone rang and he answered it. After he hung up, he sidled close and whispered to her. "Walter Elbert was born a year before his mother moved here from England. It was three years before his mother married Douglas Elbert."

"The manager finally gave up Manuel Solis' address on record." She lifted an elegant eyebrow. "Want to go check it out?"

"Nah-uh. No way, you're staying here."

"Booth, when in our entire partnership has that ever worked?"

He glared at her.

"You really think that now that we're so close to catching up with him, I'm going to stay here while you go to catch him?"

"What part of 'Restricted Field Work' do you not understand?"

"What part of 'going with you regardless' is so hard for _you_ to grasp?" She countered. "I'm sticking with my partner."

He growled angrily. Then he opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. "Fine." He answered forcefully. "But when the swat team and I go in, you stay in the car, understand?"

She nodded, looking innocent.

"I mean it Bones." Booth climbed in his driver's seat. "In the car, doors shut and locked, windows up. I'm not even playing around."

"You seem very serious." She agreed.

It was a half hour drive northeast to Solis' tiny home. Swat and back up were already there when they arrived.

"We're waiting on the warrant sir." One of the officers said.

Booth turned back, velcroing a Kevlar vest around his chest. "Bones..." His tone was warning.

"Stay here, I got it Booth." She answered snidely.

"Yeah, well, just... yeah." He looked sheepish as she closed the door on his babble, but switched quickly into his leader mode, going towards the house with gun drawn.

^Booth's POV- Thursday night

Booth edged toward the door, then knocked. "Manuel Solis! FBI!" There was no answer, but the sound of breaking glass reverberated from inside. He counted down slowly with the swat leader, then kicked the door in. He was at the head of the swarm of police that stormed into the building. He spotted one shoulder disappear behind a corner and cautiously but quickly pursued it. The older man made it to another door. One shot to the man's arm felled him quickly to the floor. Solis turned with a gun in hand. A cop behind Booth shot the guy in the shoulder.

He moved forward quickly and kicked the weapon away. "Get a medic in here!" The same cop that had taken the shot put pressure on the wound. "Where is Walter Elbert?"

"Vá para o inferno!" The man spat, gasping raggedly.

Though he didn't know the language, Booth could guess what that meant. Crouched low, he nudged the door Solis had been headed for open, revealing a stairway down to a basemant. Yells caught his attention and he jumped up. Over the radio in his ear he could here the warnings.

"Sargent Orte, second floor. Perp spotted outside!"

He was outside faster than anyone could follow, catching sight of a man running away as fast as his legs could carry him. He lifted his gun and trained it on the man's back.

Suddenly, the passenger side door of his SUV shot open, colliding with Walter Elbert with a audible crunch.

Despite his worry, Booth couldn't help but wince. That just sounded painful.

"Booth, does this count as leaving the car?" Bones yelled from inside.

He laughed so hard as he bent to cuff the semi-conscious man, he could barely finish his task.

^Brennan's POV- early Friday morning

"Sweetie!" Angela yelled the second she could caught sight of them.

"Hey Ange!" Booth called cheerfully.

"Whoa, somebody's in a good mood." The artist laughed. "Finally."

Brennan smiled at her best friend but kept stride with a fast walking Booth as they headed for her office.

Angela caught up anyway and linked arms with her. "Oh my gosh, I'm so glad that crazy psychopath is finally in jail! What are we doing to celebrate?"

A chuckle shook Brennan's shoulders.

It was Booth that answered. "We are taking Bones to the lecture on micro- micro-"

She came to the floundering agents rescue. "Booth promised to take me to a lecture on Micropalaeontology entitled "Multivariate Analysis of Microfossils for use in Biostratigraphy". The process has always seemed fascinating. I wanted to go several months ago, but was waylaid by a case."

"Micropaleontology holds interest for you?"

"Of course. Micropaleontology is also a tool of Geoarchaeology used in archaeological reconstruction of human habitation sites and environments. Of which I have found myself a part many times. Besides, Booth said I could pick whatever I wanted."

Angela shared a look with Booth. "Oh yeah, I'm sure he's excited."

"Doubtful. Booth usually finds these sorts of things very boring. However, I believe he would enjoy something more lively later tonight of you want."

"Sounds great. I'll let Cam and Hodgins know. Somebody should call Sweets too."

The artist headed off as the duo entered Brennan's office.

"Okay Bones, grab that..." Booth trailed off, seeing Brennan frozen just inside the door. "Bones? You okay?"

She hesitated and when she finally spoke, her voice conveyed her surprise. "That's the first time I've walked in here without needing to force myself since..." She gestured vaguely. "No need for deep breaths or preparing myself."

Booth blinked, obviously still a little confused. "Is that a good thing?"

She laughed. "Yes. A very good thing. Hurry, let's go before we're late."


End file.
